


you're just a cannibal, and i'm afraid i won't get out alive

by nicotinedaydream



Series: Dangerous Liaisions [2]
Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2019-08-14 00:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16482641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicotinedaydream/pseuds/nicotinedaydream
Summary: Max, David, and his boys are dead. The nightmare is over for the Emersons. Or is it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I decided to post the first chapter to my long story in progress. This is officially a series now, too. This follows directly after the events of the first film, and is a sequel to my fic lure you into the dark. I have only written what I have here, so updates will probably take a while, however I will try to update as quickly as I can.

"One thing about livin' in Santa Carla I never could stomach… all the damn vampires."

Lucy's sharp intake of breath echoes in the stillness, while Michael feels the shudder of Sam's body against him. For a moment, he's unsure if it's laughter from the haplessness of the situation or simply leftover adrenaline; however, he doesn’t linger on the thought for too long, as his eyes are drawn to Star and Laddie instead. They're both huddled in the corner behind him, still holding onto each other, like two startled deer under the glare of bright and threatening headlights.

Michael meets Star's eyes and tries to manage a smile, some small reassurance that everything is okay, but between the heavy apprehension on her face and the desperate grip he can see she has on Laddie, finds he's unable to follow through.

Lucy is the first one to speak, a weak tremble of sound in the silent aftermath, but voicing words which are exactly what Michael is thinking.

"What is going on here?  _Dad_?"

"Those damn vampires ruinin' my house," Grandpa grumbles in an infuriatingly useless reply.

"This happen often, Grandpa?" Sam says, his white-washed face grim.

"Not on my watch, it don't."

Michael snorts despite himself, still trying to come to terms with the shit-show this night has turned out to be.

"But… I don’t understand…" Lucy mumbles. "Dad, you _knew_ about all of this?"

"'Course I knew about it. You don’t live in Santa Carla and not notice the vampires," Grandpa scolds, raising an eyebrow and taking another long, slow sip from his root beer.

"Oh, we noticed," Michael says, a harsh bite to his tone, any earlier traces of his bewilderment vanishing as renewed anger grows in its place. "You could have warned us, Grandpa."

"Yeah, we nearly became the bloodsucking Brady Bunch!" Sam cries, affronted.

"You're welcome," Edgar says, too smug and arrogant for his own damn good.

"Edgar," Alan warns with a hesitant grumble.

"What? They're amateurs," Edgar hisses, but Alan elbows him. " _Hey_!"

Michael tenses. He'd forgotten those two were still there. They were the reason David and his boys had come to the house tonight. If they had not staked Marko…

"What do we do now?" Laddie murmurs in a small, quiet voice.

Star's looking down at Laddie in concern, biting her lip. His eyes are large and doe-like, the little boy staring up at her innocently. Michael recalls when he'd been a half-vampire; those same eyes, consumed by an awful vehemence no child should have in them at such a young age.

"Get some snores in, for starters," Grandpa says, tapping his nose and winking. The Frogs make a noise of agreement, apparently done with their bickering. Michael can’t control the annoyed roll of his eyes. Fucking brats.

"Good idea, Dad." His mother nods, visibly quite shaken, her tone meek and tired. Michael is not tired at all.

" _Really_?" Sam exclaims. Michael can see his brother's pouting face in the shadows, nose turned up in disgust. "You think I can sleep after what happened tonight?"

"No time like the present, boy. Cleanin' up this mess before the sun rises. Vampires burn, you know," he says with a firm glare.

"Yeesh, okay, we get it, Grandpa," Sam huffs, crossing his arms.

Michael grimaces as his mind is subjected to a sudden, uninvited image; the house burning to the ground, disintegrating into crumbled ruins while David's cruel and viscous laughter joins the sounds of licking flames and groaning wood and his family screaming. Thankfully, his mother's voice cuts through and muffles the graphic internalisations, suppressing them for the time being.

"I'll stay in your room tonight, Sam," she says, rubbing her son's back. "I'm sure it'll help your poor old frightened mother, too."

Lucy's light, nervous chuckle sets something off in Michael's gut. He remembers he'd felt abnormal after drinking David's blood, hollow, a shell of a human being. Even when she had tried to talk, understand what was going on with him, there was nothing; no emotion there to remind him that this was his mother, his  _family_. The ability to feel anything again is good, Michael knows it, but he can't help but want to bury these feelings and go back to the cold comfort of emptiness.

"We… can stay?" Star's face is aghast. Michael thinks she's about to faint, and readies himself by moving closer to her in case she does.

"Oh, honey…" Lucy's eyes soften sadly at the shy, flustered girl in front of her. "Yes. Of course."

Star's anxious eyes flit around the room, her body rigid, remaining tense. "Thank you," she whispers, relieved, so quiet he barely hears it. She's not used to being shown generosity, that's abundantly clear, and as Michael watches her shoulders slump, hands around Laddie finally loosening their grip, he wonders where she really came from, if anyone cared she was gone.

"But, Mum…" Sam gasps in a panic, sounding out of breath. "How do we know they aren't still vampires, huh? We can't let them stay here!"

"That include me, too?" Michael answers bitterly, an indignant part inside of him, the guilt-ridden and self-loathing one, expecting Sam to agree. If Star isn't welcome here, surely, he isn't. Right?

"What? No way! Not you, Mike." Sam is staggered at the notion, as if he can't comprehend that Michael would even think of them throwing him out. "You're… you're my brother!"

"Do you really believe that, Sammy?" he rasps, low, dropping his voice. Maybe if Sam nods, says yes, then he'll be somewhat inclined to accept this; accept that he's back to normal, and this isn't one of those fucked up nightmares.

"Michael, what's the matter?" Star questions, the fear and concern in her eyes unbearable. Michael doesn't want her to pity him, hates it, feels weak enough already without her overflowing sensitivity.

"Nothing," he says, this time able to manage a smile, no matter how strained it may be. "Tired."

"I bet  _you_  aren't tired. Are you?" Sam glares heatedly at Star, fists clenched.

Star gives him a funny look, frowning. "We're exhausted," she says. Laddie yawns, almost on cue, rubbing his eyes.

"Star," he mumbles, tugging on her skirt.

Star's sad doe eyes find his, and it immediately reminds Michael of the night he'd met David and the boys; the same look she'd given him when the blond vampire had stopped her from hopping onto his bike, her name a low and clipped syllable from his lips, daring her to disobey. She had listened but gazed at Michael, desperate, forlorn, like she wanted something but knew she couldn’t have it.

Michael's not letting that happen. Not tonight, not again, _ever_.

"You can stay in my room. Mum?" He turns to her for support, knowing his mother will ignore Sam. She's got to be used to his trouble-stirring antics by now.

Lucy nods, a kind smile on her face. "Of course, sweetie."

Sam flaps his hands frantically, before he points at Edgar and Alan. "Then, uh, then… my friends stay, too!" he stammers, staring at Michael aggressively, face almost red in his upset.

"Be my guest." Michael shrugs. The Frog brothers may be annoying, but he's not planning to stick around them for long. "Star?"

Star seems slow, hesitant, shuffling Laddie in front of her. Michael walks over, resting a hand on her arm, and she shivers. "I'll come with you," he assures. She gives him a small smile, but he can tell she's uncomfortable. 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Edgar snaps, eyeing him. Michael barely restrains a growl. "She could still be a bloodsucker. We don't know anything about her." What is  _with_  this kid?

"Edgar, that's enough," Lucy says with a strained sigh. The boy closes his mouth, scowling. Alan even seems taken aback, too. Michael blinks, surprised at what he'd witnessed; the Frogs, those stubborn shits, taking orders. "It's been a long night, and I'm sure everybody is feeling tired right now." She sends a weary look in Sam's direction, who huffs and rolls his eyes, arms crossed defiantly.

"That's right, Lucy," Grandpa declares. "'Bout time we all got some shut-eye, eh?"

Michael waits for Sam to retaliate, and is again surprised when he sees him give the Frog brothers a serious nod, the two boys repeating it like some sort of unspoken code. They go upstairs, the only words leaving their lips a monotone unison of, "Night."

"Sam, don't you want to go with your friends?" Lucy asks.

"Not without you, Mum."

" _Oh, Sam…_ " she exhales, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He just glares at Michael over her shoulder.

Michael doesn't know how to react to the look in his brother's eyes. He could almost believe Sam was still seeing him as a hungry, bloodthirsty ki—

"Michael?" Star's voice causes him to shudder.  _No_. He's not. Max is dead. The boys are dead. David is… "Michael, what's wrong?"

Michael closes his eyes, trying to clear the mess inside his head. He tries to forget about  _him_ , the corpse in Grandpa's workshop, impaled, unmoving, dea—

Star's hands are cupping his face. He opens his eyes to see them all watching him. Star's eyes are soft, concerned. His mother looks like she's fretting, which is not unusual. Laddie looks puzzled, his tiny hand clutching the fabric of Star's skirt.

Sam looks furious.

"What're you thinkin' about, Mike?  _Huh_?" His brother's jaw is firm, eyes narrowed. "About them? About  _him_?"

Star's eyes widen and she gasps, so much like his mother it physically hurts. " _Oh, Michael…_ "

"No," he rasps, shaking his head. "No, I'm fine. I'm just…"

"Tired?" his mother supplies helpfully. Michael jerks his head in a quick nod and she chuckles at him affectionately, but Sam continues to eyeball him. "Take Star and Laddie upstairs with you, Michael, and get some rest. Okay?"

"Thanks," he murmurs. Star grasps his hand in hers, squeezing hard. She looks drained, dark circles under her eyes, her skin taut and pale. Laddie mutters something inaudible, head drooping against her side, eyelids fluttering as his will to stay awake slowly begins to fade.

"Come on, Laddie," Star whispers, lifting him up. He lets out another yawn before wrapping his arms around her neck and sagging forward. "Thank you," she says, gaze drifting to his mother again, her smile small and sincere. Lucy nods, smiling back.

 _Maybe I'm off the hook_ , Michael thinks as he leads Star and Laddie up the stairs, Sam's scathing eyes on him the whole way.

But, somehow, he knows he's not.

***

They stand in Michael's bedroom, staring down at the bed.

"I did that," Laddie says in a hushed, sleepy tone. He holds onto Star extra tight, like he's scared Michael is going to yell at him for a force he couldn't control.

"Sure did, buddy," he chuckles, ruffling Laddie's hair and wincing at the mess of his shredded mattress. Laddie lets out a shy little giggle, while Star bites her lip sheepishly. "You don't need to sleep on it if you don't want to, okay?"

"Okay," Laddie whispers, less nervous. Star eases him down, and when he's on the floor, Laddie shuffles over to a chair in the corner near the window.

"Laddie, _no_. You can't sleep there." Star shakes her head. Michael watches her eye the open window, and wonders if she is thinking the same things he is.

Laddie winkles his nose, shaking his head as well, but for the opposite reason. Michael sighs. Kids. "Star, he's okay," he murmurs. Star does not look persuaded. "I'll get him a blanket from the closet. He'll be fine."

"All right," she replies, still sounding uncertain.

Michael opens the closet, finding a thick blanket that looks warm enough. "See?" He drapes it over Laddie as the boy curls up on the chair, tucking his knees up to his chest and closing his eyes.

Star nods, and he can tell she's not as hesitant this time. "All right," she repeats, kissing him on the check, before stretching out across his bed; the wrecked mattress doesn't seem to bother her, astonishingly, though that must be from sleeping in the hotel for so long. Michael lies down next to her, ignoring a spring that digs into his back as he allows her to curl herself around him. She breathes out a small yawn.

"This is nice…" Star whispers.

"It is," he agrees quietly, resting his chin atop her head, her hair tickling his nose. She smells warm and soft, almost sweet beneath the dirt and sweat, and Michael lets her fall asleep in his arms.

***

Michael wakes up to a strange coldness under his skin. He blinks his eyes open, and the first thing he notices is the moon from his open window casting dim light across the ceiling, patchy shadows lining the walls. Then, he recognises that he must have fallen asleep, somehow lulled by Star's breathing… but he isn't tired, not even a little.

Laddie is still sleeping on the chair in the corner; the blanket is half-falling off him now, gravity slowly dragging it down to the floor, but the kid seems comfortable.

Star is curled around him, their legs tangled, her mouth parted on quiet, shallow breaths. He manages a lazy smile and brushes a strand of her dark, curly hair away from her face. She looks peaceful like this, relaxed, happy, and for a second Michael can almost pretend she's his girlfriend staying the night with him rather than going home to her own bed.

That's not the truth, though. No, the truth is, she has no home to go back to. Hell, he's not even sure if she  _does_ have some place waiting for her. Someone. More than one someone. He had never asked, too obsessed with David and the boys to consider any of these things.

"Mmm… Michael?"

Michael jolts in surprise when he realises Star's eyes are open.

"Hey," he whispers, embarrassed he'd let his thoughts distract him enough that he had missed any small signs of her waking up. "I didn’t disturb you, did I?"

"No," she murmurs, and her eyes lighten when she looks over to Laddie sucking on his thumb. "He's so tired. We both were."

Michael snorts. "Yeah. Me too." Star's eyes meet his, now dark in concern, and he blinks dumbly. "Star?"

"You're not tired, though, are you," she says, worried.

"Kind of. A little." He shrugs, trying to have it come off as unbothered, even though he is just as worried as she is, if not more. "It doesn't matter. I'm sure I will be tomorrow."

"Michael, something's wrong." Her hand strokes over his arm, and he does his best not to shiver at the touch, which for a moment, feels so foreign. "What is it?"

Michael wishes he knew the answer, but he doesn't. His head feels like thick cotton, a muddled haze of thoughts and feelings. None of them make any sense. At least, not the sense he wants there to be.

"I don't know," he mutters, closing his eyes.

"Michael?" she questions. He nods, keeping his eyes closed; doesn't want to see the sad, sympathetic look he knows will be there. "When David…"

Michael does open his eyes, then, breath hitching. "Don't say his name," he groans.

"Mich—"

 _"_ _Please_ , Star."

Star looks at him, dejected, lost. "I don't know what to do, Michael. How to help you. What can I do?"

Michael barely suppresses a laugh. He's lost, too. He has no clue how to handle any of this. Soon, very soon, they will have to clean the house. He's going to face David again, his body, the emotions he's trying to pretend aren't there—no,  _no_ , weren't  _ever_ there to begin with.

_Kill me. Leave. Take David with you._

"Go back to sleep," he says instead, taking her clammy hand from his arm and gripping it in his, stroking her palm soothingly. "You need it."

"So do you," she replies, persistent, but is interrupted by a yawn. She recovers quickly, eyelids fluttering as she whispers, "Sleep with me, Michael."

Michael can’t help but smirk at the innuendo, despite an itch in his bones and an ache in his chest telling him that this isn't the freedom he wants… or  _needs_. "Sleep with you, huh?"

Star snorts, eyes crinkling at the corners, her worries melted away, replaced by a flirtatious smile. "Maybe," she murmurs, soft, sly. He nibbles her shoulder gently and her answering giggles are infectious.

 _Maybe_ , Michael thinks, later, kissing his way up Star's quivering thighs.

Maybe Star, here, now, will be enough to make him forget.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you guys. Still sorting out in my head what I want to happen, so still not much plot yet. Hopefully I get some more written soon and some general idea of where I want this to go. In the meantime, any constructive criticism or feedback is great. Hope you all enjoy!

_"Let me go, let me go, let me go!"_

Michael sits up in a startled panic, woken by the desperate screams.

"…Laddie?" he mutters, recognising the high-pitched voice. Why the hell is Laddie making so much noise?

"Oi… you… stop that!" Edgar grunts, teeth gritted, Laddie thrashing and kicking against his arms in a fruitless attempt to break free.

Michael watches the scene in front of him, his brain needing a few seconds to catch up, but when it does, he immediately realises Star is no longer in bed beside him. They'd fallen asleep together, so why isn't she…

"Where the hell is she?" Edgar notices he's awake and his eyes widen, arms squeezing tighter to prevent Laddie's struggling body from escaping. Michael walks up to him and rips the boy from his arms, pushing him hard against the wall. "What did you do to her, you little freak!"

Edgar bares his teeth in a grimace-sneer. "I don't answer to  _bloodsuckers_ ," he spits. Michael feels saliva hit his face, followed by a strong urge to snarl and spit back.

"Tell me where she is!" he shouts, and he shakes the kid with enough force that his bandanna starts to slip from his forehead. Edgar tries to attack him, but his arm soars through the air near Michael's head; the punch misses by sheer centimetres. "I swear, if you don't tell me where the  _fuck_ she is, I'll—"

"You'll suck my blood?" Edgar growls sarcastically. "Try it, fang-face! See how far you get."

Michael is ready to knock the brat out, pulling his fist back, though he stops when he hears faint noises of a scuffle from downstairs. Laddie hears, too, and his eyes light up in alarm.

"Star!" he calls, running out of the room.

"Alan!" Edgar yells hoarsely.

"Shut up!" Michael snarls, punching the kid in the stomach and running out to follow Laddie, ignoring Edgar, who falls to the floor with a string of curses. He finds Laddie hitting at Alan's legs furiously, child-like war cries leaving his lips. Alan, who is holding a stake pressed to Star's chest, right above her heart.

"Michael," she says in a shaky gush of breath, and she must sense he's going to do something stupid, because her eyes are teary and pleading. "Don't."

"Let her go," he orders.

Alan takes a step back. "Don't move, bloodsucker," he hisses, "or I'll stake your girlfriend here. Then I'll find your maker and stake him, too."

Maker? What—

Michael stops.

Wait. Shit. _David?_

His mother, Sam, Grandpa and Edgar all rush down the stairs at once. Lucy's eyes widen when she sees them, a shocked gasp coming out of her mouth.

"Alan?  _Michael_? What is going on?!" she questions hysterically.

"They're trying to kill us!" Alan and Michael shout at the same time,

"Who's tryin' to kill who now?" Grandpa grumbles with a tired glare, looking as if he'd rather be asleep than downstairs watching two boys have a damn scuffle in his house.

"He is!" Edgar jumps to Alan's defence, pointing at Michael accusingly.

Michael is about to say something spiteful (probably not his smartest idea), but that's until he notices his brother's slack jaw and horrified eyes.

_"Where the hell did he go?!"_

Sam's staring straight past them, through the open doorway to Grandpa's workshop, and at his frantic yelp, everyone in the room looks over to where he's staring. Michael, too, follows his brother's line of sight, seeing what Sam is talking about. His stomach drops.

David's body is gone.

***

Michael thinks, as he takes a seat at the kitchen table, this is the dumbest idea their mother has ever had… since she decided to move them to Santa Carla.

"So, boys," she says, hands clasped in front of her. She's nervous, Michael can tell, but he can't really blame her. "Is there anything you want to tell us?"

Edgar remains silent, lips a firm line, eyes narrowed. Alan is the same, though his teeth nibble on his bottom lip. Anxiety, huh.  _Good_ , Michael thinks.

"No," Edgar says in a flat tone, glaring at her. Their mother sighs helplessly, disappointed in the boy's blatant refusal to her efforts.

But Grandpa has other ideas.

"Now, I ain't no mind reader, kid, but I sure can smell some bullshit when I hear it," his grandfather wisecracks. Edgar gives the old man an annoyed scowl, the bandanna wrapped around his forehead making him look like a young Rambo, Michael thinks with a roll of his eyes.

" _Dad_ ," Lucy huffs, exasperated.

This time, Michael can't help but grip the table, pushing back the urge to get the brat to talk. Star sees and moves her hand over his, squeezing as she gives him a comforting smile. She'd been uneasy after the Frog brothers and their stake fiasco, though she had settled down when his mother had led her and Laddie into the kitchen for a short talk. Soon after, that his mother had come back and instructed them all to sit down, which is why they're currently trying to pry answers out of these two whack jobs.

"Now, now, Lucy," Grandpa says, sipping from his root beer, and Michael snorts.  _Right_. Let their pops have any kind of serious conversation without a drink in his hand. "Boys will be boys, but there's a time for 'em to grow up. Now's about time, eh?"

Edgar shifts at the table, visibly uncomfortable at the old man talking about him as he if isn't sitting right there. Alan continues biting his lip, but hesitantly glances up at Lucy, opening his mouth. Edgar notices and elbows him.

" _Hey_ ," he whispers under his breath. "We don’t trust them, remember?"

Michael catches Sam's wounded expression, the protective big brother inside him rearing its ugly head, closely followed by an anger so hot and sure-fire he's surprised his skin isn't going up in smoke.

"Sam," he says coarsely. Edgar stares at him, expression blank. "You trust Sam. Don't you, Edgar?"

"'Course not," Edgar bites out. "His brother's still a shit-sucker. Why _should_ we trust him?"

"Real nice," Michael scoffs, feeling liquid temper eat away at his stomach. He'd always been antsy around them, but right now, this is something different. This isn't irritation, or annoyance, or anything like that. No, it's rage. Savage and  _bloodthirsty_  rage.

"Don't say that!" Sam shouts, voice trembling as he glares at Edgar, eyes a mixture of anger and hurt. "Don't talk about my brother that way."

"He's not your brother anymore, kid."

"Yes, he  _is_!"

Edgar makes a movement, almost like he's going to lunge across the table, but Alan puts an arm out to stop him.  _Better him than me_ , Michael thinks gratefully, then almost slaps himself for having used Alan and the word grateful in the same sentence.

"Edgar," Alan hisses. "Calm. Down."

"All right, all right,  _all right_!" Edgar hisses back, wrenching his arm out of Alan's hold as his brother huffs in annoyance.

"You," Grandpa cuts in, eyeballing Edgar. Michael appreciates the look of chagrin on the Frog brother's face, unable to keep his smirk hidden. "You gonna tell me why the undead corpse in my workshop decided to go off for a wander, before I start gettin' real tired of your bullshittin'?"

"I'm not talking to you," Edgar huffs, folding his arms, jutting his chin out defiantly. "To any of you. Not to people who house bloodsucking creeps. No way."

Alan nods, his features stoic and indifferent.

Lucy's face falls, hands shaking, and Sam stares at their mother, his eyes imploring her to say something. Michael knows she's not good at confrontations.

He can remember back in Phoenix before they'd packed up their stuff and moved far, far away from the depressing shithole their lives had been. His drunk father screaming and throwing things. His mother trying to diffuse the situation by offering to stay at a friend's house for the night. His father's manic expression, bloodshot eyes, raised fist. His mother's alarmed cry, tears streaming down her face, bruise on her cheek. Sam running into the room and charging at their father with a snarling Nanook at his heels.

Sam.

 _Sammy_.

He can remember the joyous little giggles his brother used to make as a youngster, when Michael would tickle and blow raspberries on his stomach. The adorable, however irritating way he'd collect so many comic books back in Phoenix that their mother had to ask Michael if he would lend Sam one of his drawers. The look of dread in his brother's eyes, his shrill voice screaming down the phone line at their mother as Michael had been begging him to open the window and let him in. The furious look in his eyes as Michael had led Star and Laddie up the stairs earlier tonight.

"Tough crowd, eh?" Grandpa says, raising a hairy eyebrow when no one speaks, and Michael's aggrieved thoughts vanish in a flash of stinging clarity. "Well, then, if nobody's gonna be givin' me any damn answers, I'm off to bed. Don't be thinkin' 'bout callin' out if that blond vampire comes back, you hear?"

Michael sees Edgar's eyes widen, the kid's scowl morphing into a pained grimace. "Fine," he grits out, like the words are toxic from being forced to leave his mouth. He glances at Alan and his brother nods. "We'll tell you."

Grandpa chuckles, winking at him, and Michael does not hold back his grin. So, the old man knows a few tricks.

"We heard a noise," Alan says, eyes narrowed. Michael pretends the kid's glare isn't directed at him, but he knows it is, his grin short on slipping. "Went to go check it out, and big bad vamp over there was gone."

"Why were you trying to kill Star?" Sam questions warily. Michael sees his mother flinch and barely manages to withhold his own at Sam's accusation. Sam still doesn't trust Star; not really a secret he's trying to hide.

"Why do  _you_ think, Sam?" Edgar retorts, glaring across the table at Star. "Count Dracula is dust, then the dead bloodsucker goes missing. That seem normal to you?"

"I guess not," Sam mumbles tentatively, shoulders hunching as he pouts. "But… but why do you think Star had anything to do with it?"

"I'd like to know why, too," Star says defensively as she shifts a protective arm around Laddie. "Why would I go anywhere near David, after everything he did to Laddie and me."

"How would we know?" Edgar laughs in a sharp, mocking tone. "Bloodsuckers don't play by the rules."

Star recoils, eyes betraying her hurt, and Michael feels the moment his slowly crumbling sense of control just _snaps_.

"Huh. Last I checked, there were no bloodsuckers here," he growls. His grandfather is right; boys need to grow up the hell up. "Only two little  _punk-ass brats_ who think they can sit right in front of me and threaten my friends."

"Michael!" his mother gasps, hand over her mouth.

Edgar turns to Alan, teeth bared in an angry grimace. "We're leaving."

"Wait!" Sam cries, watching in desperation as they stand to leave. "Don't go. He didn't mean it.  _Mike_ ," he pleads. Michael tries not to fall for his brother's puppy eyes. As much as he hates it, he knows Sam will continue to see the Frogs as close friends, even if the two boys don't feel the same way. That's good ol' Sammy for you; loyal to a fault. "You didn't mean it. Tell them you didn’t mean it."

Michael shakes his head, a hoarse chuckle escaping his dry throat. "I'm not going to lie, Sam. You know me better than that."

"Don't call us again," Alan says firmly. Edgar grunts his own nonverbal agreement.

Sam's bottom lip wobbles, eyes slick with unshed tears, as the Frog brothers leave the table and walk toward the door. When they're gone, Sam looks at him, his jaw clenched. "I know you better than that, huh?" he snaps, sniffling.

Michael opens his mouth to say something _,_ _anything_ , but Sam leaves the room with a painfully loud scrape of his chair before he can even attempt a sincere apology. He doesn’t know how his ears catch it, but he hears the sad whisper of Sam's voice even after his brother is gone.

_"…stopped knowing you the day we moved to this shitty town."_

***

David limps through the entrance to the hotel, hand braced against the stone wall to keep himself balanced and upright. Those antlers had done substantial damage, but, luckily for him, killing a vampire was not part of their design. He shudders as he passes Marko's body, still in the exact same spot they'd left him, now a decomposing pile of flesh and bones, and the ache in his chest is more psychological than physical.

These wounds would heal, gradually, but Marko would not. None of his boys would.

 _What's the point of living forever, when you're alone?_ David thinks with a bitter grimace, collapsing against the dusty wheelchair in the corner. His wounds tear from the movement and he muffles his agonised shout behind a snarl.

It'll take a few days to heal, gather his strength,  _feed_ , but when he does…

" _Michael_ …" he growls, closing his eyes. If he concentrates, ignores his shattered ribs and punctured lungs, David can feel his dormant blood in the boy's veins; hear his heartbeat thrumming, miles away.

Outside, the sun begins to rise.

David smirks, and waits.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam disappeared into his room the night Edgar and Alan ran off, abandoning the mess his friends had caused, leaving it for everyone else to clean up. It's been two days since then. Two days of quiet, apart from the loud and occasionally grating sounds of his grandfather fixing the plumbing. Two days of his mother going upstairs every hour, only to return with a hopeless smile and shake of her head. Michael wishes he could help; would go up there himself and kick down the damn door if he thought it would do any good.

"Sam's going to be just fine, Michael."

Star tries her best to soothe him, Laddie sitting on her lap as he watches some cowboys and Indians fight on TV. His mother had persuaded Grandpa to let her buy one, since after everything they'd been through, a television was the least they could afford to make their lives easier. Michael doesn't disagree. Laddie seems quite pleased. Grandpa has started to actually _use_ the TV guides. However, the living room feels too weird without Sam. He'd thought his brother would be the first person to turn on the new TV, dancing and singing along to those stupid MTVvideos he loved watching when they lived back in Phoenix.

"He's mad at me, Star," he replies in a huff. She squeezes his hand, giving him a sympathetic look, but it does nothing to settle his worries. "I just wish he'd talk to me, you know?"

"He will," Star reassures. Michael snorts, wincing as her elbow playfully digs into his ribs. "He's upset because his brother made his friends leave. Normal behaviour for a young boy."

"What? Pretending his family doesn't exist?" Michael says indignantly. Star glares at him this time, not playful, _serious_ , and he sighs. "Look, yeah, I get that he wants to be left alone, but he's probably starving up there. He could at least come down for breakfast, Star."

"You don’t understand. He's not thinking about food." Star stares at Laddie endearingly, soft smile on her face as she watches the little boy whistle under his breath every time the Indians shoot arrows into the cowboys on screen. "Children only like to think about what is important at the time, Michael," she says, stroking a hand through Laddie's hair. Laddie doesn't notice, eyes glued to the TV. "See?"

"Sure, whatever," Michael mutters, ignoring the small part of him that is curious how Star knows all this parenting stuff. "I'm leaving." He knows he's being ridiculous, but he can’t stay here; not when Grandpa's hammer hitting the bathroom pipes makes him flinch, and _definitely_ not when his mother's moping is becoming infectious. He stands up, walking to the door while slipping on the sunglasses from his jacket pocket.

Everything is still too loud, still too bright, but he tries not to think about it.

"Where are you going? Michael?" Star calls from the couch, apprehensive yet also managing to sound slightly exasperated.

"Out," he says, disregarding the second call of his name as he shuts the door behind him.

Maybe the sun will do him some good.

***

David licks wet, dripping blood from his fingers; the pale and lifeless body sprawled on the ground beside him had been pretty, maybe a little too skinny for his liking, but her blood had been appetising enough.  _Just another face on a milk carton now_ , he thinks as he stares down at her open, glassy eyes. He kicks at the girl's body and watches as it rolls onto its side, blood gushing out from the open wound in her neck.  _What a worthless pity_. Her blood had filled him up to last the day, possibly the night, too, but he knows he'll have to feed again, continue to build up his strength.

Michael still hasn't visited him yet, which he supposes is about right. He remembers hearing the boy and Star at it, fucking like bunnies in the bedroom upstairs, while he'd been crawling his way across the floor of the old man's workshop. He's sure Michael is comfortable where he is, playing house with that little family of his.

Borrowed time, that's all.

***

Michael stands in front of the Frog's comic book store. He's not entirely sure why, knows the two boys are bound to get on his nerves if they so much as breathe too noisily near him, but his feet had led him down here anyhow. The doors to the store are shut, and there's a  _CLOSED_ sign hung up, a shoddily written note taped next to it in bold, red letters.

_OPEN 7PM TONIGHT._

"And apparently I'm the bloodsucker," he mutters around a forced, sarcastic laugh. " _Right_."

Michael curses as he thinks about his brother's friends. All the crazies he could have found in this place, and he picked  _them_. Pre-pubescent boys with hot tempers and no tact, who wielded eyes of steel and stakes of wood, reckless and ready to throw themselves into danger without a second thought. Nice one, Sam.

_'Apple doesn't fall too far from the tree… does it, Mikey?'_

Michael shivers at the whisper, a bone-deep chill slithering under his skin, despite the sun's warm rays bearing down on him. He squeezes his eyes shut, hissing a breath between his teeth.  _No. David is dead. He just… disintegrated, or something. He was a vampire. I dusted him. He's gone. Snap out of it, Michael_ , he thinks, trying to convince himself that the sneering voice in his head is nothing.

The carefree laugher echoing down the boardwalk distracts him, and in that moment, the idea of following the sound quickly seems like a good idea. He looks behind him one last time, the comic book store sitting there for all that it is; a mockery. Michael squares his shoulders and walks toward the beach, forsaking any ideas of turning back and going home to beg for Sam's forgiveness.

Sun is all he needs. He'll be fine.

_He has to be._

***

"Star? Where are we going?" Laddie questions, voice wobbling as he sits next to her on the bench. People walk past them and give short glances, but they're all hardly concerned to see a little boy and a young teenage girl huddled together, waiting at a bus stop; even if the clothes they're wearing are dirty and tattered, their forms hunkered down, as if they're almost hiding from someone… or some _thing_.

Star turns to him, meeting his confused eyes as she gathers his body close to her chest in a hug, hiding her face in his hair and breathing in his smell. Laddie reminds her of her little brother back at home; his shy smile, his bright eyes, the way he would hold her hand as she walked him to school. She sighs sadly. Star misses him, but knows she cannot go back. Her parents would not understand why she had run away. No, they wouldn't even try to. She'd be miserable there.

She's miserable here, too.

Michael had left her and Laddie alone hours ago, but the house hadn't felt right with him gone. Lucy was nice, though after a while, Star realised the woman was tentative around her, giving small smiles that never quite reached her eyes. The old man did not say a word to her, only silent and judging glances as he passed by her to collect tools from his workshop. Sam remained in his room.

"Away," she murmurs. "Far away."

"But why?" Laddie whispers, gripping her shirt in his tiny fists. She hears a sniffle, muffled into her neck. Star feels tears sting under her eyelids.  _He's just a little boy_ , she reminds herself hopelessly; too young to understand, even after everything they'd been through this summer.

"It's not safe here, Laddie. We need to go somewhere where we can be safe."

They needed to leave. This town was too dangerous, and the raw memories of their experiences were too much for her forget, let alone stay. She couldn't stay. Santa Carla was no longer home for them. Not anymore.

David and his boys had made sure of that.

***

Star is not around when Michael returns that evening, but someone else is.

"Sam," he breathes, surprised to see his brother downstairs. Sam is sitting at the kitchen table, spooning cereal into his mouth. _Seriously, Sam_ _?_ he thinks with a snort. Sam stops when he notices him, eyes narrowing as he drops his spoon into the bowl. "…Hey."

"I'm not talking to you," Sam grumbles, glaring. Nanook is sleeping on the floor beside his chair, but opens one eye when he hears Sam's aggravated voice. His eyes land on Michael, and his lips peel back to reveal sharp, bared teeth.

"You just did," he says, smirking as he ignores Nanook's low growls. Sam doesn't crack a grin like Michael thought he would; still angry at him, then. "Where's Star and Laddie?" he asks, looking around.

"Dunno. They weren't here." Sam shrugs, leaning down to stroke a hand over Nanook's flank. Nanook's tongue lolls out as he pants happily, but still remains observant and aware, his eyes on Michael's presence while his owner pets him, like he's waiting for Michael to give him a reason to attack. Huh, weird.

Wait.

 _They aren't here?_  Michael frowns. Star wouldn't leave without telling him where she went… would she?

"Oh, Michael, you're back!" Lucy comes down the stairs smiling, but her smile falters when she notices them. Michael's stomach sinks, fearing the worst at his mother's troubled expression. "Didn't Star and Laddie go with you?"

"No, they didn’t. They aren’t here?" Michael looks around again.  _They're here. They have to be_.

"Oh, no, honey. They haven't been here for a while now." Lucy frowns, face lined with concern. "I thought they'd left with you."

Sam mumbles something around a mouthful of cereal, chewing thoughtfully. His brother's pleased expression is plain as day, and when Nanook huffs out a yawn, it almost looks like the dog is laughing at him.

Michael curses, and in his panic he kicks the kitchen chair next to Sam; the loud noise and vibration must be what Nanook deems a threat, the dog rising to snarl at him, teeth snapping. " _Shit_ ," he swears, holding his arms up in front of his face for protection.

"Nanook!" Sam cries, spilling cereal down his shirt in his haste as he jumps up and knocks the bowl over, grabbing Nanook and pulling him back. "What did you do to him, huh?"

" _Nothing_!"

"Nanook!" Lucy chastises feebly, scared at the sight of their dog acting so vicious.

"I know you did something to him, Mike!" Sam yells as he attempts to control Nanook, glaring at Michael in disbelief.

" _Sam_!" his mother shouts, startled by the venom in her younger son's voice.

"Screw this," Michael mutters. Nanook is frothing at the mouth, still snarling and trying to lunge at him as Sam manages to restrain him.

"Michael, you come back here this instant! Michael!  _Michael_!"

Lucy's eyes widen, calling after Michael in alarm when he storms out of the house and slams the door shut. She turns to Sam, who is staring at the door with a scowl, Nanook a growling mass of fur and teeth beside him.

"What is going on, young man?" she says angrily, crossing her arms.

Nanook wisely chooses that moment to settle down.

"What? He didn’t mean it! Did you, Nanook? You wouldn't hurt Mike, would ya, boy?" Nanook licks his fingers, before bumping his head against Sam's thigh. "See! He's a good boy. Aren’t ya?" Sam says, scratching him behind the ear.

Lucy sighs uncertainly, shaking her head as she looks out, through the kitchen window, at the moon blooming in the distant horizon.

Something was not right.

***

David strides down the boardwalk. He bumps into people who are too busy in their own worlds, careless to avoid him, but his answering glare earns him fearful, muttered apologies each time. Oh, how he has missed this. He hasn't been out since he'd fled the Emerson house, antler-shaped holes leaking blood everywhere as he'd managed to find his way back to the sunken hotel. The girl who'd stumbled across his hideout last night had been a fluke, and a lucky one at that; enough of a good meal to quench his thirst and help him heal. Some small scars still remain, a few minor aches that come and go in waves, but it's nothing an early evening snack can't fix.  

_I shouldn't have left. Why did I leave? Fucking Frogs probably took her. Sam's sill pissed at me. Mum is freaking out. Nanook has gone crazy or something. Fuck. What am I going to do? Shit. Shit. SHIT._

He stops walking, his dinner considerations forgotten at the new bombardment of thoughts. After a few seconds, his feet lead him down the boardwalk again; follow a pull in his subconscious. He hasn't felt anything like this since his boys were alive. Which must mean…

David sees him up ahead.

A boy, standing in front of a comic book store, pacing up and down, heart racing, with  _t_ _heir_ blood fluttering through his veins. Not food. More than food.

_Michael._

***

Michael stops, a tremor wracking through his body. He thinks about earlier today, thinks about the night he and Star made love, and groans as his stomach churns, keeling over to gasp uselessly, arms wrapping around his body to hold his abdomen.

_"Hey! You! Bloodsucker!"_

Edgar and Alan are storming up to him, their eyes blazing, stakes grasped in their hands. Michael barely holds in a nauseated laugh, maybe would have liked to respond (he's pretty sure he came here to accuse them of doing something to Star and Laddie), but he can't think clearly. His vision flickers out of focus, and the sick feeling in his stomach turns icy, liquid, numbing.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is."

When Michael hears the voice, he swallows around another dry heave; his stomach twisting into a knot as sudden, disturbing clarity washes over him. Because it all makes sense now. Flinching at loud noises. Wincing at bright lights. Nanook lunging at him like a rabid wolf.

" _D-David_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an interesting chapter to write. I always wondered what would happen with Star and Laddie after the film, and I think this is probably what went down. I don't hate Star, I actually quite liked her character, but at the moment she's not needed for the story. I'm not sure if I will bring her back. We'll see.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so difficult to write. Ugh. I'm also struggling with the next chapter, and I have no clue where this is going to go. I'm so bad at planning. Anyway! I hope everyone enjoys the chapter, and if you want to send me some ideas or even just some lovely feedback, that would be awesome and super encouraging :)

"Hello, Michael."

David looks just as lethal as he did that night, right before Michael had rammed those antlers through his chest and watched the life (or whatever life there was left) leave his body. In the smallest fraction of a single moment, time had seemed to slow, and he'd appeared to accept his end. Michael thought he'd looked almost angelic as he lay there, dying, the ruthless killer behind dimming eyes no longer. But now…

"S-S-Stay back!" Alan shouts, panicked, taking another stake out of his back pocket. Edgar mimics the action, but with a shoddy church cross, eyes wide, face pale.  _Almost like he's seen a ghost_ , Michael thinks.

David smirks, his entire body language dripping in arrogance; arms splayed out at his sides, lit cigarette between his lips, an eyebrow raised. "Gonna stake me, boys?"

Michael would snort, but he doesn't think he's capable of a breath of air to do it right now, head throbbing, stomach cramping. He hasn't felt this bad since Sam had tried to cook their mother's lamb stew last Christmas.

"Don't think we won't!" Edgar spits, but his hands are shaking. Michael can hear the boy's rapid heartbeat, thundering away in his chest.  _Like prey_. The thought comes to him, unwarranted, and his next thought is a mirthless hope that David didn't hear. Michael quickly thinks otherwise, though, when he watches a smirk curl the corners of David's lips as he blows a puff of smoke in the boys' direction.

"Oh, I doubt you will." David's arrogance dissipates as he removes the cigarette from his lips, rolling the body of it between his fingers instead. Michael feels the sombre edge to his next words; as if what David is feeling is a part of him now, too (and if it feels too close to how he'd felt that night in bed with Star, the ache and the itch, the strange and cold need to be elsewhere, he deliberately doesn't linger on the thought). "You see, boys. I'm not as little as Marko."

Alan's eyes dart between his brother and David, considering the words just spoken. Edgar licks his lips, stake and cross wavering as he tries to pull himself together, to hide his fear behind the gruff voice Michael knows he puts on for show every time he speaks. "Not holding up too well… are you,  _bloodsucker_?"

David barks out a disbelieving laugh, but Michael can tell Edgar isn't having it on. David's preferring one foot over the other, leaning his weight a little to the right as he stands, and his jaw is clenched hard enough that Michael can see the stark definition of his cheekbones under the light of the boardwalk. The Frog brothers have picked up on it as quickly as Michael has just been able to.

"Is that so. Michael?"

Michael doesn't expect David to speak to him; his stomach twists nastily in response as he remembers David's words.  _My blood is in your veins_. That same blood in his veins feels like fire, hunger clawing its way up his throat, suffocating, and his throat burns when he speaks.

"I…  _killed_ you."

David laughs again, harsh, callous, blue eyes narrowed as they meet his own. "No. Not quite." He lifts up his shirt and nudges his chin in the direction of raw, fading scars on his chest. "Nice try. Aim was good. Antlers, not so much."

"Should have staked him instead of the little one," Edgar mutters under his breath. Alan nods in agreement, grimacing. Michael sees the second David's nostrils flare, face closing off.

"Watch your tone, kid," he growls, the glint in his eyes letting them know he's not too weak to kick their asses. At least, that's what Michael imagines it is. There's no way David could take both Edgar and Alan on and win while he's still healing. Maim them, yeah, for sure. Killing them, however, was not likely.

"Or what?" Edgar growls back. Seriously. How dumb is this kid?

Michael knows he wouldn't have dared talk back to a vampire, albeit a weakened one, if he had been their age. He  _had_  done it though, but he knows the only reason he hadn't ended up buried six feet under or washed up on a beach somewhere was because Max had wanted them all to be one happy, little bloodsucking Brady Bunch family. David had simply obeyed his sire's wishes, since killing Michael would have ruined the plan; listening to Daddy had been more important than protecting his honour.

"Don't provoke him," he hisses at Edgar, but the boy only glares at him. Jeez. Why does he bother. In fact, why  _is_ he trying to stop them from becoming vampire chow? Oh. That's right. David would become staking practice, and then Michael would be next.

"Look,  _Mike_ , we're not gonna listen to you just because your little brother is upset we aren't his friends anymore. All right?" Edgar's eyes harden as he speaks. Alan's do the same, though the other Frog seems guilty about it. "Me and Alan, we look after our own. Sam's not part of that. Neither are you. I suggest you get out of here before we decide to stake you both."

Despite the sickening hunger that has been burrowed underneath every breath he's taken in the past few minutes, Michael laughs. He can’t help it.

"Are you guys serious right now?" he scoffs.

"Deadly," is Alan's monotone reply. Edgar's hand grips onto his stake tighter, fingers a spasm of movement.

This time, David laughs. Michael's hunger perks up at the sinister vibrations, even though he's not standing next to David, not even close, and the fact that some small part of him can feel the man's laughter is as terrifying as the feral grin on David's lips.

"Come on then, boys. Give it your best shot."

Michael expects Edgar and Alan to lunge forward and charge with a ridiculous battle cry, but nothing… only a quiet, shocked gasp from behind them. They all turn around. Michael is the first to see who it is, and in that moment, he wishes he hadn’t left the house.

His mother, clutching the bottom of her sweater in her hands, wringing it uncertainly. Sam's by her side, looking partly alarmed and partly furious.

"M-Michael?" she stammers, but she's not staring at him. She is staring straight at David.

"Lucy Emerson." David instantly perks up, setting off all the danger signals in Michael's hindbrain. "Pleasure to meet you. I don't think we've been formally introduced." He holds out a hand, the grin on his face sharp and dangerous. "David."

Michael knows this is going to end in more disaster than the night the boys had attacked their home. His mother hadn't been the centre of attention. David had been after  _him_. Tonight, it's a different story, and Michael is not prepared for what could happen.

_Their father spits in his mother's face as she's backed up against the wall, shaking, crying._

_Michael swears at him, tells him he's calling the cops, that he'll fucking kill him if he lays a hand on her. He knows it won't do anything, but he needs to say something, needs to protect her._

_Sam is next to him, body quaking, and Michael sees him open his mouth._

_"Leave her—"_

"—alone!" Sam shouts, anger and fear making his voice hoarse.

Michael blinks, haze lifting as the unpleasant memory fades, coming back to the present. David's grin has fallen. He's tight-lipped, frowning; the expression directed at him. Had David… seen the memory too? No. He couldn't have. It's his head, his memories, his  _past_. No way a little blood could share something like that…

Could it?

Sam has shuffled away from their mother, over to stand next to Edgar and Alan. He's whispering at them, voice hushed, tense, but Michael can hear him anyhow.

_"You gotta put the stakes down! She can't get hurt, okay?! Please. Guys. Edgar! Alan?"_

Michael wants to roll his eyes, wants to pull his brother away from them, wants, wants,  _wants_. He wants something, but doesn’t know what… or he does, but knows if he submits to it, he'll never be the same again.

Lucy's eyes dart around, catching short glances of the boardwalk. There's nobody around, most of the crowd having walked down to the beach, or over to a concert now playing far enough away that Michael can hear it faintly.

If anything happened, there would be no witnesses.

"Did Star come by here with that little boy?" His mother's voice is surprisingly steady as she ignores David's outstretched hand, directing her question at the Frog brothers. They are clearly wrestling with the idea of either splitting, their tails between their legs, or answering her.

"No," Edgar eventually responds, shaking his head, as if he needs to prove he's telling the truth.

"Bull," he snarls, and Sam jumps at the tone of his voice. Michael knows he sounds wild, untamed, _like their father_. He feels it, too, as the hunger in his stomach lurches, slithers against his ribs, his lungs, making it hard to breathe without wanting to sink his teeth into Edgar's throat.

"He's telling the truth," David says calmly. Michael blanches as he turns to stare at David. David's eyes are still directed at him, though they're not critical anymore, not at all. They’re awfully… complacent. "I can smell her. Both of them. Left not long ago. I'd say, hmm… few hours before sundown. Bus out of Santa Carla."

 _No. She couldn't have. Not without telling me where she was going…_ he thinks hurriedly.

_'Don't act so surprised.'_

David's voice in his head does not shock him this time. David can hear his thoughts. Of course he can. His fucking blood is in Michael's veins.

_'No. No, she didn't leave, David. Star wouldn't. She wouldn't. Not when I love her. Not when she loves me.'_

David's eyes solidify, and Michael wonders if it's a natural reaction to the word  _love_ ; if it's enough to make any vampire glare and scowl, or if it's something else.

_'She never loved you. Come on, Michael. Surely you aren't that naïve.'_

Something else, then.

Michael isn't sure if he wants to find out what it is, what could make David's voice go so hard, his gaze so distant. He remembers when he had come back looking for Star, the night before the fight. David had been there instead, waiting. He'd goaded him, but there had been something else there.  _This_ something else. No. No way. He refuses to think about it.

Michael sees the moment David's gaze falters and changes direction, but he's not being hostile this time. If Michael could explain the look in one word, concerned may have been it.

David… _concerned_?

"Take your son home, Lucy." Son. Sam. Not Michael. Why not him? Unless… "Michael is coming with me."

"No freakin' way! He's not going  _anywhere_ with you!" Sam shouts.  _Nice to know he still cares_ , Michael thinks with a pinch of relief. Sam still cares about him. That's… good. That's good.

"Tell your little  _friends_ to walk away, and maybe I'll let you come." David smirks, like he would if that wasn't an obstacle.  _Right_.

Michael places himself in front of his brother when he notices Alan pass his second stake to Sam behind his back. Sam is glaring at him as he takes it. Why is Sam still angry at him? He's been trying. Really, he has. The fact that he hasn't knocked the Frogs out tonight is living proof he's trying.

" _David_ ," he warns. David would have seen the sneaky move. He should know this isn't a game. Not when his mother is here. Sam. More liabilities.

"Michael," his mother whispers shakily. She's still twisting the material of her sweater in her hands, and her eyes still remain locked on David instead of him. "They’re coming with me." But her voice is firm this time. Business. Their father and the divorce have given her strength, to be able to hold her ground in the face of vulnerability; even if that vulnerability could be getting her throat torn out by a damn vampire.

Michael is both proud and scared for her in that moment.

David chuckles, lifting the cigarette in his hand up to his lips, and smoke curls around his form as he takes a long drag, blows it out slowly, steadily. "That's not going to work, Lucy," he says.

His mother trembles at the sound of her name, but does not back down. She walks over to Sam and grabs him by the arm. Michael feels her other hand on his, and the hunger is eased… slightly.

"I'm taking my boys home, David _._ Both of them."

Michael watches David take another drag of the cigarette, inhale, exhale, before throwing it to the ground behind him. His face is calculated, waiting. Probably for his mother to give in, change her mind; decide to take Sam and leave Michael here with him. He knows she's never going to do that. It seems David does, too, because he sighs and rolls his eyes. Michael shifts in front of his mother, unsure if David will try to hurt her, but all he does is shrug.

"Suit yourself."

 _What, that’s it?_ Michael thinks dumbly. Sam is also confused. He can hear his brother mutter,  _"What the hell?"_ under his breath, the Frog brothers repeating the confusion with disgruntled murmurs.

_'You know where I am. When you're done playing house, find me.'_

Michael doesn't have time to reply, in voice or thought, before David walks away and disappears into the shadows of the boardwalk. He's about to turn around and comfort his mother, tell the Frogs to get lost, when he hears David's silky, smooth voice again; can almost imagine his daring smirk, the power in those smouldering blue eyes.

_'See you soon, Mikey…'_

***

Their mother is a nervous wreck by the time they get home. Grandpa is waiting in the kitchen, three empty root beers on the table, another full one in his hand. He takes a long swig of beer when they come in, sighing noisily. Michael snorts. Nanook, who is lying down at Grandpa's feet under the table, sits up and starts growling.

Michael doesn't need to guess who that growl is for.

"Bit late for the kid to be up, ain't it?" his grandfather says, nudging his head in Sam's direction. Sam sulks, folding his arms, while his mother lets out a tired sigh. Grandpa meets his eyes. Michael immediately notices a seriousness to them before he speaks again. "'Bout time he be gettin' to bed, Lucy."

"Sure, Dad," she replies softly. She looks exhausted, but Michael can't blame her; bumping into the vampire who'd been pinned by antlers in your father's workshop, supposedly dead, now miraculously alive, would do that to you. "Come on, Sam." Sam rolls his eyes as she leads him up the stairs, Nanook following close behind them with a moody glare in Michael's direction.

Michael lingers in the kitchen, unsure what to do. He knows if he goes upstairs, Nanook will likely pounce. He doesn’t particularly want to stay here, either. His grandfather is eyeing him with a look he  _knows_  means some strict words are about to be said.

"Michael…"  _There it is_. "Sit down 'ere for a minute."

"Look, I'm real tired, okay. I'll talk to you tomorrow," he tries, the excuse sounding just as lame as it did in his head. He's not tired at all. Over the past few days, sleep has not come easy, nor has it helped any. Grandpa must sense it; doesn't budge, either, pulling out the chair beside him and pointing at it. Michael huffs as he takes a seat. "All right, Gramps," he begins casually. "What is it?"

" _What is it_?" His grandfather sounds baffled, disappointed as Michael has ever seen or heard him. "Gonna need to try harder than that, kid." Michael rolls his eyes. Grandpa shakes his head, then nods it in the direction of his workshop door, before looking at him sternly. "Our friendly visitor come back, eh?"

Michael wipes his hands over his face, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. Of fucking course. Grandpa knew  _everything_.

"I wouldn't call him that," he mutters. David was no friend. Was he arrogant? Yes. A killer? Yes. Infuriatingly handsome? …God, _fuck_ yes. But a friend?

"What is he, then?" Grandpa asks warily, arching an eyebrow.

"I don’t know." He hasn't fed, so he's not a vampire, which means David isn't anything to him yet. David's blood is in Michael's veins, but that doesn’t mean… No. David is  _nothing_ to him. "Nothing."

"Oh, he ain't nothing," Grandpa says, worry shining in his eyes. "You be careful, you hear me?"

"Sure thing," he mumbles, about to get up, but his grandfather's hand on his elbow stops him from leaving the table. He sighs, pulling his arm out of the hold. " _What_?"

"You don't be goin' lookin' for him, Michael," he orders, breath stinking of alcohol. If Michael wanted to, he could put all this nonsense talk down to the old man being drunk… but he knows that's not true. "You stay in the house, and you don't go out at night. Not until school starts. That understood?"

"Are you kidding me? No way, Grandpa," he growls, pushing up and away from the table. He hears the old man's chair on the kitchen floor and knows he's bound to be followed. Normally, a sense of rationality would win out in a situation like this one, but then there's that familiar hunger twanging in his every nerve; one he doesn't think he'll be able to contain this time if he stays put. Michael's ears ring, and he can feel his heart in his temple, throbbing, almost in time to the coils of fire in his veins.

_'Michael…'_

The door hovers in his line of sight, so tempting, like an unseen force is daring him to open it. He shivers, clenches his eyes shut,  _knows_  David is trying to lure him in.

"You come back here right now, boy!" his grandfather yells, anger and faint desperation in his voice.

_'Miiiiiiichael…'_

He doesn't want David to think he's some pet that will come whenever he calls, doesn't want to give in to the fraught need to be near the bastard, but he knows anything is better than an interrogation from Grandpa—and then the next morning, his mother and Sam.

Michael rips the door open with a bitten-off sigh and heads out into the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, still not completely sure where I am going with this, but I have cleared some things up:
> 
> 1\. Shit is very much going to get dark, and quite soon
> 
> 2\. Star will be making a reappearance, just not sure when
> 
> 3\. There will definitely be some... more explicit smut, because when can I ever help myself?

David is waiting for him to arrive, an obnoxious smile on his face as he watches Michael skulk into the hotel. Michael does his best to ignore the man's presence, averting his eyes and walking toward the bed shrouded by curtains. David's huff of laughter follows closely behind him, but he disregards it and tries to relax against the pillows.  _Tries_. In that moment, lying in the bed he and Star shared those short few times before the showdown with Max, he regretfully thinks about how he'd left her alone with his family; wonders if he had stayed, would she have stayed, too.

" _Michael_ ," David says. Michael's skin crawls at the roughness of his voice. He opens his eyes and expects to see David's smirking face… but, no. David's chosen to stay right where he is, mock him from a vantage point, and Michael can't see the expression on his face or the slow and lazy drag of nicotine he inhales. "Moping isn't going to bring her back."

"What about love?" Michael knows the question is a stupid one to ask. David's snort is answer enough.

"What about it?" Michael isn't sure how to read into his tone this time. If he were dealing with a human being, he would think he'd heard a sign of real emotion.

"Like you would know," he mutters sarcastically, pushing the thought away. David's not human. Not really, not anymore. Surely whatever he thinks he'd heard must be a trick. What else could it be?

Michael hears the squeak of the wheelchair, sees movement from behind the curtain, and in the next few seconds David is walking in. He sits on the end of the bed, silent for once, cigarette smoke suffocating the atmosphere as he exhales; at least to Michael, it feels like it.

"More than you'd like to think, Mikey," he finally responds, a thin smile on his lips.

Michael refuses to try and figure out what it means, nearly hesitates on his next words, the burn at the back of his throat returning. "Oh, yeah?" he rasps.

"Makes the heart grow fonder, don't it," David drawls, though Michael is sure he hears a trace of sadness in his tone now. Before he can say anything in return, David's next exhale of cigarette has him coughing and wincing. He tries to suppress a pained groan, but ends up choking on the curls of smoke that drift in his direction, the hunger strumming a sordid tune against his lungs with every breath of air he takes. Michael shivers, bites his tongue, and almost sighs in relief when blood coats his taste buds.

 _Fuck_.

He feels so—

"Hungry, Michael?" David purrs from the shadows, blue eyes nearly luminous in the dark.

"No," he hisses. He's not fucking hungry. This isn't what David thinks it is. It's not.  _It can’t be…_ he thinks fearfully. There's no way he's turning into a monster. He's  _not_.

"Stop fighting the inevitable, Michael. You must  _feed_. It can be tonight, or it can be tomorrow night, but you need blood. Without it…" David trails off, apparently thinking the end of his sentence is implied. "You know the rest."

Michael  _doesn't_ know the rest, but so what if he doesn’t drink blood? He'll deal. He would much rather feeling drowsy all day, this unsettling hunger, even these painful cramps, than having to live forever with the knowledge that he's a cold-blooded killer.

"No,  _idiot_ ," David growls, flicking the glowing ember of his cigarette to the ground and stamping down on it in frustration. "Do you have  _any_  ideawhat happens to a vampire who doesn’t feed?"

"I don't know, David. You tell me, because that's what's going to happen." Michael glares, his resolve hardened. "I'm  _not_  becoming a killer. You can't make me."

David curses, his eyes changing colour; gleaming amber, some kind of emotion behind them that Michael will definitely not think about, let alone acknowledge. "If you don't feed, then you will  _die_."

Michael pauses, then, and considers the words David has just said.

He'll die. He won't be there to protect his mother, won't be able to help Sam with his homework, won't ever find the opportunity to chase down Star and tell her he's sorry and that he loves her. However, he'll be free from an eternity of killing, of feeding on helpless and innocent people who deserve better. People who could end up being some random kid on the streets, a homeless guy… or his mother, or Sammy.

Michael shrugs, indifferent to David's reasoning.

"I don’t care."

Michael flinches when David moves up the bed toward him. He could try to escape, run back to the house and beg his grandfather to leave their previous conversation alone, pretend everything is normal, maybe not drop out of school and instead commit to his studies… but he knows David would follow him there, and none of that would go down the way he'd want it to.

"Listen carefully, Michael," he seethes. Michael had thought he'd heard true rage in David's voice, once, the day they staked Marko, but it doesn't come close to the force he finds in David's words now. "If you won't feed, I'll just have to bring the food to you. And we wouldn't want that, now, would we?"

Michael gulps around the burn of hunger in his throat, feels it scrape against his vocal cords when he speaks. "No," he rasps, despite the emptiness in his stomach, the heavy demand to be  _full_. He won't abandon his humanity. He's stronger than that. He has to be strong for his mother, for Sam… for Star, wherever she is.  _She wouldn't want me to give up._

"Oh, but she did give up on you. Didn't she, Michael?" David's tone is unremorseful. Michael almost thinks he's enjoying the show, fascinated by Michael's suffering; the hunger, the heartbreak and the loss. He's not… or at least, he doesn't look like he is, because there is no sign on David's face that he's deriving any pleasure from how horrible Michael feels right now. "She left you. Ran away. Want to know why? Because she was  _weak_. A scared little girl who I never should have trusted. Only thing she did right was find  _you_ , but even that came back to bite me." He chuckles; a bitter, mirthless sound, and it leaves Michael feeling ill as the memories from that night rush back to haunt him.

 _No. That… that wasn’t my fault_ , he thinks weakly.

"If I'm such a problem to you, why bring me here?" he asks, attempting to bury the guilt clawing at his chest; a nudge against the hunger, taunting him. "And don’t tell me I came on my own free will. We both know that's not true," he says. David scowls, looking like he was going to turn this argument around on him. "I'm here because you want me to be, for whatever reason I have no fucking clue, all right. So, just… tell me what you want, David.  _Why_?"

David doesn't reply for what feels like ages, but Michael knows it must only be a minute or two. When he does, the answer is not what he'd expected.

"Isn't it obvious?" David's eyes change colour again, fierce amber to pale blue, though the intensity in his eyes remains the same. "If you hadn't noticed, my boys are dead. Thanks to that brother of yours and his _friends_."

"Sam had nothing to do with it," Michael mutters. David raises an eyebrow, stone-faced, and he quickly adds, "He was scared. He didn't know what he was doing!"

"I'm sure he didn't," David growls, eyes narrowing. "But you did." Michael shakes his head as the guilt swells bigger, _bigger_ , overwhelming. "Star might have been the rescue mission but let's not kid ourselves here, Michael. You wanted them dead. You wanted  _me_ dead."

"That's… that’s not true," he breathes. He wanted Star safe. He only wanted her to be free. He never wanted any of them to die. It was an  _accident_.

"Max had your mother, and you knew he wasn't going to let her go. You knew he would turn her, turn your brother, so you took matters into your own hands." David's eyes are icy, vacant; any emotion that was once there is now gone. "You formed a plan, you  _executed_ it, and then you thought everything was over. You thought you could stop yourself from becoming a monster. But want to know something, Michael?  _You failed_."

Michael's mouth is dry, the guilt constricting his stomach in tight knots. Does David believe what he's saying?

"No," is all he can manage, a barely audible whisper.  

He didn't know Max was the head vampire until his mother had brought him back to the house that night. He'd thought David was the head vampire, and even then, he hadn't been planning to  _kill_  him…

" _What_ ," David snaps, more surprised than angry.

"Marko was my fault. I know that." He swallows, heart sinking into the pit of his stomach as he remembers the young vampire's screams of agony. "I never… I should have stayed, made sure they didn't hurt any of you, but I… I had…"

"You had to save Star." David's voice is low, and for a second Michael swears he feels the sharp vibration of jealousy, underneath the guilt and the hunger. David continues before he can dwell on it. "If you thought I was the head vampire, you could have killed me. Why didn't you, Michael?"

Michael knows there's only one right answer to this question, but he's not sure he knows what it is. Why  _hadn't_ he killed David? Marko had been number one on the hit list, he gets that now. He's sure if the others hadn't woken up, Edgar and Alan would have attempted to stake the next one, and then the next one, and then… 

"Clearly," David scoffs, "that never crossed your mind."

"No," he says quietly, because it hadn't. In the scenario in his head, David never died and neither did the boys. They went in, found Star and Laddie, then left. Edgar and Alan, _possibly_ Sam, had been the ones to add 'staking Marko' to the plan. Michael had stayed in the car for that reason. He'd been tired, his strength weakened by the sun's rays, but he'd also thought Sam and the Frogs would come running out a minute or so behind him.

Right?

"That's how you felt.  _Really_." David sounds unmoved, his stare calculated. "Don’t lie to me, Michael."

Michael digs his nails into his palm in an effort to draw blood, to distract himself, create some distance from David's searching eyes. He hadn’t planned on anyone dying. He  _hadn't_.

Had he?

 _I don’t know_ , he thinks, properly terrified. If he _had_ , hadmeant for Marko to die, had planned to wipe out the boys, he doesn't feel that way anymore. It's like his emotions have been erased and altered, replaced by ones that believe in new memories; an entirely different narrative.

Michael sits wordlessly and watches as the suspicion and doubt in David's eyes disappears. He moves back, slow, grudgingly, no longer impeding on Michael's personal space, and lights up another cigarette with a sigh. Michael stays where he is, eyes downcast, hands still shaking. He can feel the blood he'd succeeded in bringing to the surface, wet under his fingernails, and licks his lips in an attempt to soothe the hunger in his stomach. David must smell the blood because he stops, cigarette paused at his lips as he stares at him, facial expression dark and unreadable.

 _I—I could go_ , Michael thinks hesitantly while David continues to stare at him and not say a word. His grandfather would have no doubt told his mother what had happened by now. She could be out looking for him, a defiant Sam refusing to take no for an answer until she'd have let him come with her.

"If you wish," David says, almost subdued, like he's read Michael's thoughts. Michael watches him take a long drag from the cigarette, the smoke's blowback filling his lungs and causing him to cough. He clears his throat hoarsely.

"No, it's… not safe," he mutters. His mother and Sam would be safer on the boardwalk—hell, in a lion's den—than anywhere near him. "Not like this. You knew that when you brought me here."

David chuckles, eyes sliding over to meet his gaze, holding the cigarette out; a harmless offering, but what feels like just another trick. Michael looks at it disbelievingly, though lets out a defeated breath and takes it when he realises David isn't going to stop until he does. He breathes some in, tilts his head back, and closes his eyes.

_Star's mouth is pliant, her hands stroking his bare chest. She traces his teeth with her tongue, playful, affectionate, nipping on his bottom lip when he pulls away. Her smile is radiant, gorgeous; like her._

_"Michael," she sighs sweetly. He lets her run her fingers through his hair, tug and angle his head to the side, soft lips resting against his neck._

_Michael hisses, arching into the hot press of teeth and tongue, but groans in discomfort as her teeth suddenly dig into his throat and puncture the skin._

_"Star," he gasps, fighting to keep his eyes open, vision blurred around the edges. "Star… s-s-stop… w-what're you do…?" he slurs, trying and failing to push her off._

_"Stay still, Michael." Her voice is different, rough, like gravel, and the lips are no longer soft but bruising. Michael struggles more when the teeth to his throat latch harder; when he feels skin break, blood dripping down his jugular, wet and sticky._

_"S-Star," he murmurs, his eyelids drooping, heart a loud throb in his eardrums._

_His last woozy thought before he slips into unconsciousness is wondering why Star's eyes are such a pretty blue._

"What the hell…" he croaks, coughing and spluttering on the next inhale of smoke as his eyes bulge open. David is smirking at him, and he's not sure if it's the light in the hotel or his sudden weird almost-dream, but the blue of his eyes makes Michael's stomach curl. "What…"

"What do you see, Michael?" David chuckles, slipping the cigarette out from his fingers while he's numb in shock, placing it between his lips, waiting for a reply.

"I…" Michael swallows against the snare of heat in his throat. Hunger. He's still hungry. Not for… not for blood this time, but for something different. Something stronger.  _No_. He tries to shake the feeling. "Nothing. I saw nothing." His voice isn't steady, far from it, but David doesn't expect anything less from Michael right now if the gratified look on his face is any indication.

"That so?" David's smile is wide, dangerous, and Michael recoils. He needs to leave, needs to get out, can't stay here. He makes a move to stand but his legs refuse to hold his weight, weak and wobbly as a newborn fawn's. "Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast." David is grinning now, fangs bared.

Michael tries to stand again, but his efforts prove futile once more, body falling back against the bed. He lets out a desperate cry, squeezing his eyes shut when he feels David's breath on his throat, tongue on his pulse, almost like it's chasing the burning hunger in his veins. "Let me  _go_ , David," he hisses, panting.

"Don’t you want to protect your mother? What about that little Sammy of yours?" David murmurs, so flippant, so fucking pleased that Michael wants to punch him; lay into him until his hands are covered in blood, lick the blood from his fingers, fill this starving  _needneedneed_  in the pit of his soul. " _Yes_ , Michael. That's it." David's prodding at his self-control, turning this into a game… but no matter how hard he tries, Michael finds he's unable to stop himself once the last two words reverberate in his mind.

_'Show me.'_

Michael lunges forward unthinkingly, fist aimed for David's smug face. Before it can collide, the vampire grabs it in a crushing grip and chuckles; hollow, menacing, his blue eyes too inquisitive for Michael's liking.

"Easy there, Michael. I was only teasing." Michael tries to pull away, seething, rage and hunger battling inside him for dominance. David lets him go, hands raised in faux innocence. "Could have hurt yourself."

"Could have hurt  _you_ ," Michael growls, too careless to think of the words coming out of his mouth in his current emotion-fuelled state. David's grin drops, eyes narrowing, and Michael has a flicker of recognition, an immediate whiplash of  _oh shit_.

"I could still kill you, Michael. If I really wanted to."

It almost sounds like a warning, but Michael quickly reminds himself that there is, in fact, no  _almost_. David is being severely patient with him, and he knows that's not a good thing.

"But you don't," he retorts, hoping he hasn't jumped to any conclusions. David had led him here, but not to kill him. …Right? He didn't want Michael dead; he wanted him  _un_ dead.

David arches an eyebrow. "Who says I don't want to," he says, tone flat,  _sincere_. Michael opens his mouth, unsure what to say in response this time, before David's frown thaws into an amused smile. "Gotcha."

Michael curses as the last small shred of lucidity inside him, not overridden by the lingering appetite and hot-blooded anger, hits him full force. He should have expected David to be like this, should have realised this was going to be a fucking game to him. The dream (or was it a dream, really?) remains ever-present at the back of his mind.

The warm embrace of Star's body, her gentle touches, cold fingers gripping his chin, a sharp and stinging pain…

"Wait… S-Star wouldn't…" he mumbles.

"Star wouldn’t  _what_ , Michael?" David sneers, and clarity smacks Michael right in the face as he looks at him; his brazen smirk, the startling blue depths of his eyes.

_Blue eyes?_

"It wasn't Star…" Michael scans David's eyes for a hostile reaction, but all they do is twinkle back at him in satisfaction. "It was… it was  _you_ … wasn't… wasn't it?" he stammers, hating how fragile his voice sounds.

"Bravo, Michael. Bravo." David claps and Michael flinches, running on all instinct now, jarred by the noise. He shrinks back when David's arm slings around him, trying to detach himself but failing as David's arm tightens and pulls him closer; _too close_  for Michael to feel anything but jittery, on edge, waiting for something bad to happen.

"W-Why?" he manages to ask, not really sure he wants to hear it, dreading the answer but needing a reason for _this_. The memory lapse, the dream, the hunger he feels for blood… but not just for blood, for something  _more_.

David's grip around him tightens further, squeezing, and Michael winces. "Why not?" he murmurs, low, so downright sinful that it makes Michael squirm. "You are mine, Michael. Don't forget that."

 _Mine_.

The word should cause some feeling of discomfort, unease, but all Michael can feel is the blood in his veins. His blood, it's singing,  _alive_ , and he feels the touch of David's smirk against his cheek, their bodies close enough now that he can't help but notice how he doesn't want to move away anymore. He… _fuck_ , he just wants to get closer and closer and _closer_.

Michael doesn't register what's happening until there's the firm, heavy press of a body on top of him and teeth find the supple flesh of his bottom lip, biting down. David's tongue slides in after to pull him into a kiss so demanding, everything else falls away.

***

David had never believed Max when he'd somewhat unimportantly hinted that some halfs could develop certain loyalties to their sire that stretched beyond the normal control. However, when Michael says he didn't mean to kill Marko, didn't plan any of it, had not even  _thought_ there was the slight possibility of a massacre, David is suddenly a whole lot more interested in those secret details dear old Maximus kept to himself.

Michael sleeps unperturbed beside him despite the wet, trickling bite wound on the side of his neck. Halflings aren't meant to sleep much during the night, if at all, but the boy's conscience must be drained from fighting the hunger for so long. He's not surprised Michael has passed out.

David watches Michael's chest rise and fall in a slow tandem of breaths, listens to his heart thrum an awfully stable rhythm for what had gone down mere minutes before. He wonders if Michael will even remember any of this in the morning. If what Max had suggested was true, the boy would be confused and delirious; and with Michael, he knows stubbornness and resentment wouldn’t be too far behind.

He runs a finger across Michael's stomach, gathering up a few leftover drops of come and rubbing them into the boy's skin. Michael shifts, moaning quietly in the deep throes of unconsciousness, and he smiles.

No matter what happened next, Michael was  _his_.

David would make sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter fulfilled everyone's appetite. I'm looking forward to writing more!


	6. Chapter 6

Michael's awareness returns sluggishly; disorientated, he blinks his eyes open to find the low light of sunrise against concrete stone. He's confused as he realises he's not in his bed, and then instant paranoia grips his chest when he remembers that the ceiling he's staring at is home to a vampire who he'd thought died, ran through with antlers nights ago in the biggest brawl of his entire life.

"Morning, sunshine."

Michael rolls his eyes lazily, still dazed, but alert enough to pick out the body-shaped shadow in a corner of the room. David's perched upside down, leering at him from an area in the hotel where the sun's weak glare cannot reach.

"David," he sighs wearily, defeated. He hasn't got the energy to fight, his limbs heavy, eyelids dragging themselves down the more he tries to keep them open.

"You sleep like the dead," David says, mild tinge of humour to his voice. Michael isn't sure what the guy's trying to get at, being so cordial, pretending like they're friends.

"Figures," he mutters, too exhausted to say anything else, and he hears David chuckle before foggy slumber drowns his conscience again.

***

Lucy knows where Michael is.

When her father had burst into her room, his usual air of informality replaced by distress, cursing and waving his arms around as he told her what happened, Lucy Emerson just knew her son was with that… that  _thing_.

Sam had come wandering by, rubbing bathwater out of his eyes, wrapped in a towel but still dripping onto the floor. He had flinched when he'd heard the news, and the fact that her father never mentioned the water on the floor spoke plenty about how unnerved he was.

"We gotta find him, Mum!" Sam had shouted, eyes beseeching.

"No, we are  _damn well not_ , boy," her father had spat, almost hysterical. Lucy had taken a step back with a frightened expression, Nanook hunched and growling beside Sam. Her father had never acted this way before.

"Dad," she'd said quietly, startled. He had turned to her with kind eyes when he'd noticed her apprehension.

"Lucy," he'd began, and her own eyes had filled with tears. He hadn't called her by her name so tenderly since she was a little girl. "We ain't goin' out there, Luce. Not when it's dark 'n those vermin are about. S'not safe. For you, me, or the kid."

Sam had tried to change her mind once her father had set it, but to no avail.

They were not going to look for Michael until sunrise.

***

Michael awakens again, hours later, mind clouded by drowsiness. The sun's fully risen now, and Michael feels its heat inside the confines of the hotel as much as he does the hunger in his belly. He thought maybe it would go away after some rest, but, somehow, it's even more gnawing.

"Shit," he hisses, scrubbing at his face with both hands, and then at the dry come on his stomach—which he absolutely  _refuses_ to think about right now. David is in the corner, high above the ground, hanging from the ceiling. He squints, hoping the vampire is still asleep, to thankfully find that he is. David's eyes are closed, features soft, and Michael feels a tight clenching in his gut as he stares.

 _I need to get out of here_ , he thinks.

Michael's footsteps don't make a noise on the ground, and he manages to make it outside the hotel without any slip up or error. He looks back, behind him at the opening, trying to see if David has been alerted of his disappearance, but everything inside is quiet; only the calm sound of the waves and a gentle breeze can be heard.

People give him weird looks as he walks across the shore, and it's probably because he's wearing a black leather jacket, tinted sunglasses, when everyone else is in their beach wear. Michael pays their stares no mind. He concentrates on the thrum of blood in his veins instead, the echoing beat of his heart, the hunger once again creeping up his throat…

_"Michael!"_

Michael nearly stops at the shrill voice, carrying along the wind from somewhere down the beach behind him. He knows that voice; his mother, worried sick, Sam no doubt with her as he follows her like an obedient puppy.  _This was a bad idea_ , he thinks, walking briskly against the sun, his glasses doing nothing to help his sore eyes.

_"Michael Emerson! You stop right there, young man!"_

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he mutters, gaining speed. This is not good. They can't find him here, not now, not like  _this_.

_"Stop running away from us, Mike! It's not your fault, okay?! I… I'm sorry!"_

Sam's distraught voice is what causes him to slow, and whether the heat and hunger draining his energy is part of that, too, he doesn't want to think about it.

_"Michael, honey, please… come home!"_

Michael smells the sweet, cloying scent of their blood before he sees their running forms. His slow speed increases again at the reminder.  _I can't let them catch up_ , he thinks. He doesn't want to go back to the hotel, risk David waiting for his return, but he knows if he doesn't then his family will be in danger… of not just David, but  _him_.

"I'm sorry," he whispers as he turns into a crowded, dim-lit kiosk and melts into the surrounding mass of people. His mother and Sam rush straight past, still thinking he's in front of them, not noticing his sudden detour.

Michael breathes a sigh of relief, which in turn brings the heavy scent of blood, sweat and too-strong cologne to his salivating hunger. Surf-wet bodies pressed close with their warm, sun-kissed necks and soft, bare flesh…

 _I need to move_ , he thinks, panicked, when a young woman leans into his space and one of the stray hairs from her ponytail brushes against his cheek. He hurries out into the sun, bumping through the swarms of people and ignoring their muttered complaints, looking left then right to see if Sam and his mother are gone. This hunger, it's… it's unbearable. He's not sure if he'll be able to control it any longer; not when there are so many people around Santa Carla who smell so,  _so good_.

Begrudgingly, Michael knows there's only one person who can help him through this.

***

"Back so soon, Michael?"

"Shut up," he growls. David is leaning against the wall, wrapped up in the shadows at the far back of the hotel, blending in almost seamlessly with his dark attire; the only reason he knows David's there is because his eyes reflect through the murky blackness.

"Any bites to eat?" David continues, too offhand for Michael to reply with anything but a roll of his eyes.

"Plenty, if you're into sweaty old people," he says disdainfully. David cackles, a low and oozing sound, like water off a brook, and it leads Michael to question exactly when he started picking up on these seemingly insignificant things.

"Find what you were looking for?" David's tone isn't playful this time. He steps out of the shadows, still shrouded from the sun's glare, but close enough that Michael can see his expression; a frown, not something Michael would want to admit he hates seeing on the vampire's face.

"Depends," he says warily, watching David watch him. "What do you think I was looking for?"

"Hm. I don't know, Michael. You tell me." David's being vague, but it's deliberate. Michael is sure this is some kind of game.  _Always is_ , he thinks as he grimaces bitterly.

"I wasn't looking for anything," he says, careful with his next words. "I was just… a bit lethargic, I guess. Wanted to get out for a while."

David looks him up and down, a cursory once-over, before shrugging. "Fine." Michael's shock must be evident on his face because the vampire snorts. "You wouldn't get far if you tried to run, Michael. Must know that."

"I wasn't—" Michael starts, but he pauses at David's raised eyebrow. "I'm not running away. I'm…" He doesn't know what he's doing. Shit. What the hell is he doing?

David shakes his head with a smirk. "What _are_ you doing?" he chuckles. It's almost like he has invaded Michael's thoughts and read his mind. Michael's sure he does, and this time is no different to the rest.

 _I don't fucking know, David,_ is what he wants to snap. Or, even,  _I don't know, man, maybe go back to being a normal fucking human being instead of a bloodsucking freak?_

"Is that what you really want?" David's eyes are… somewhat yielding, not a single trace of arrogance for Michael to distinguish in his gaze.

"I don't know," he huffs, sighing. It's not a lie, either, nor a stretch of the truth. He has no fucking clue what he wants. "I don't fucking know, all right!" he ends up shouting, though flinches at the high-pitched sound of his own voice. Maybe, earlier, he had an idea; his humanity, his family, sunlight without the sting on his eyes and this fatigue in his bones, the lack of abdomen-splitting hunger.  "I mean…  _fuck_ …"

David looks like he wants to walk over to… to calm him? Punch some sense into him? Put him out of his misery? He has no idea, but whatever expression is on David's face, this time seems genuine. The sun's glare is vapid now, clouds blocking out its shine, but it's clear and obvious that David is hesitant to move closer to Michael lest the faint glimmer affect him.

_'Sleep on it.'_

_Sleep on it_ , Michael thinks, dazed, considering the option as he stares into the beguiling depths of David's eyes.  _'…Yeah. Maybe I will.'_

***

David knew the exact millisecond Michael left the hotel; heard the quiet footfalls, the strained breaths, the restless uptick of Michael's heart as the boy attempted to disappear without him being aware. Michael still had a lot to learn if he wanted to start sneaking around unnoticed.

When Michael comes back, David is impressed at his level of self-control. He's shaking, face pallid, eyes bloodshot as he removes the sunglasses. David very nearly forgets about the sun to give him a clap on the back in congratulations. You know, fighting spirit and all that.

Michael's a mess, though; a downright hot mess indeed. David watches him fall apart, the boy's hunger and exhaustion battling against his wits, until he slides a thought Michael's way and waits for the fraught mind to latch on and obey.

_'Sleep on it.'_

It's such an easy command, given how weak Michael still must be from his little daylight stroll, and David smiles in victory when he responds in a tired mull of thought before stumbling back to the bed and sinking into another long nap.

David keeps an eye on the boy as he sleeps, returning to his own slumber only once he's sure that Michael isn't going to wake up without him this time.

***

When Michael rouses from stagnation, it's already well past sundown. He feels the impatient huger inside him before anything else, slowly intensifying, like a languorous cat getting ready to pounce. Michael finds his way through the silk curtains and stops to glance around the hotel, tracking the darkness for movement but detecting nothing.

David's not here, which must mean he's left to hunt. But, wait, why not take him? Hadn’t that… been the plan? To get him to kill and finally submit to this blood-hungry demon battling inside him for dominance?

Michael takes the steps leading out to the entrance of the hotel, the chill of nightfall stroking across his skin; then  _time to play, Mikey_ , an enticing sing-song in his veins. His heightened senses hone in on something not too far off from his location and he feels a strange compulsion to trace it, like an invisible force is pushing him toward the source.

The boardwalk is packed tonight; hippies, Surf Nazis, young children, the occasional neatly dressed man and woman. Michael pays no attention to them, focused on the connection his mind and body has made to this unknown presence. He has a small idea what—or  _who_ —he'll discover, but he's not prepared to start thinking about why this is happening, just wants to  _do_ and not worry about the inevitable.

However, Michael does eventually begin to question his actions once he recognises his family's home in the distance.  _No. This isn't the place. It can't be._ He tries to stop, rip free from the need to keep going, but whatever's commanding him over to the front gate won't listen to reason.

_'Keep moving.'_

Michael's chest locks up tight at the faint whisper in his skull, pressing alongside his own thoughts, and he doesn't need to guess whose it is. His feet pull him forward; one, two, three, four more steps, up to the threshold.

_'Good boy.'_

Michael hears silence, his body waiting for the next order, when his mother's shaky voice calls out from behind the closed door.

"C-Come in, h-h-honey."

_'You hear that, Michael?'_

Michael's body kicks into action again, his own self-control lost to David's whims. His fist smashes through the door, rendering the lock useless, and the whole thing collapses in on itself. He walks in, stepping over splinters of wood, his thoughts a mess of  _holy shit how the fuck did I do that_.

"M-M-Mike?"

Sam is staring at him from the kitchen table in horror, legs and arms are bound to the chair with rope, tied in what looks like too-tight knots. His mother is next to him, tied the same way. Grandpa, too. Nanook is nowhere to be seen.

Michael's eyes finally land on David.

David, each arm holding up a struggling Frog brother by their shirt collar, their mouths taped shut, eyes wide and fearful.

"Welcome home, Mikey," he says.

"David," Michael chokes, breath escaping him in a huge rush of adrenaline and new-found desperation. David just stands here, maintaining eye contact, the Frog brothers' muffled shouts and Sam's terrified face in the background.

"I've been patient, don't you think, Michael?" David says, dropping one of the Frogs to the floor beside him.

Alan goes sprawling, unprepared for the swift landing, coughing and spluttering.

Michael doesn't know how to respond, his gaze drifting between the boy on the floor, the boy still squirming in David's grip, and his family tied to the kitchen chairs. He notices a cruel twist to David's smile as he lets the other Frog brother go.

Edgar hits the floor,  _hard_ , and groans in pain.

" _Time's up_."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, dudes and gals, but this is where it gets dark.

"No, wait, please, don— _don't kill them_!" Sam shouts pleadingly. Michael sees the Frogs' heads swivel around to his brother, their eyes going from Sam to each other, before they both nod frantically up at David with pale and frightened faces. _Oh, so_ now  _they realise they need him_ , he can’t help but think bitterly.He snorts and looks at them, small and helpless, cowering on the floor.  _Makes sense._

David raises an eyebrow, humming quietly as he seems to consider it, before shrugging his shoulders carelessly. "No can do, Sammy. Sorry." His apology doesn’t sound the least bit sincere, but Michael can't blame him. Even though he's against murder, the Frogs are troublesome punks who nobody would really miss… except for Sam. Maybe Sam.

"Mike, p-please stop this," Sam begs him, eyes wet with tears, and a small part of him wishes he  _could_. But he can't, and he knows it. David's in control now.

" _'Mike'_ couldn't, even if he wanted to." David smirks at him. "Isn’t that right, Michael?"

"Yes," he grits out around clenched teeth, eyes downcast, refusing to look as his brother's face falls. Sam doesn't deserve this. Neither does this mother, or his grandfather. If only he'd been more careful.

"Then… then don't hurt Mum!" Sam cries. " _Please_ , Mike, you can't hurt her."

"He won't be hurtin' anyone, Sam," Grandpa mutters gently. Michael looks up and notices the sad twinkle in the old man's eyes. "Will you now, boy?"

Michael wants to shake his head, say he won't, but his grandfather knows he'll have to and so does he; deep down, Sam must too. His mother is staring at him like she can barely even recognise him, her eyes brimming with tears, and in that moment all he wants to do is run away and never look back.

"Any volunteers?" David asks. Michael notices his eyes are pointed at him, their depths icy, as is his tone.

 _'No. No way. I won’t do this, David_. _You can't make me.'_

 _'Yes, Michael, I_ can _.'_

Michael closes his eyes, tries to pretend this isn't happening, but when he opens them again nothing has changed.

David is still standing there and looking at him, expectant.

Sam is hopelessly attempting to struggle out of his binds.

Grandpa is glaring down at the floor with a strained and pensive look on his face.

Edgar and Alan are silent, for once, their mouths moving wordlessly under the tape.

His mother's eyes are misted over as she stares at him—no,  _through_ him.

"So, who's it gonna be, Michael?" David kicks Edgar, his boot landing right into the boy's chest, and a wounded noise slips past the tape across his mouth. "I know you have it out for these two."

"T-That true, Mike?" Sam sounds hurt,  _betrayed_ , and Michael swallows before being able to answer.

"Yeah," he manages, the syllable forced out in a pained grimace. His brother's eyes flare bright in confusion and anger.

"But  _why_! They were only trying to help us," he says, almost like he thinks he's found a way to convince Michael to see the good in his friends. "They—"

"They  _what_?" Michael snaps. Sam flinches at his tone, bottom lip trembling, and he distantly hears his mother let out a sniffled cry. "They started this, Sam. None of this would be happening if your  _friends_ hadn't gotten involved, all right?"

"Oh, yeah?" Sam says, defensive. "Because last I remember, it was  _you_  who followed Star and got us all into this mess!" Michael is the one to flinch this time. Sam notices it and snorts. "All on you,  _buddy_."

"Enough!" David yells. Shit. Michael turns to examine David's expression for any hints he's about to snap, but all he can see is thinly veiled amusement. "As much as I'm enjoying this… family bonding session, I did bring you here for a reason." Michael curses as David's eyes meet his, any traces of humour gone and replaced by cold, hard honesty. " _Michael_."

Michael, now that he's not arguing with his brother, is instantly aware of the hunger eating away at his stomach, searing hot in his veins, and he feels his face start to contort.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks.

_'Oh, fuck is right, Mikey.'_

Michael wants to scream when he hears David's thoughts in his head. It's salt in the wound, insult to injury; a dark reminder that this isn't a game. No, not this time. This time, David's not playing around.

"G-Guys," he stammers, breathing through his mouth heavily. He knows if he so much as breathes only one lungful of air through his nose, he'll smell them; the scent of their blood, tears and fear would drive him over the edge.

"Michael," his grandfather says. He looks at the old man's face, at the open sincerity lined in the wrinkles of his skin, and he… Fuck, he  _understands_.

"No, no way." He shakes his head. He's not going to do that. He  _can't_. Not to his own family.

" _D-Dad_?" his mother whispers, her voice weak and despaired. Michael wants to throw up. He wants to spew this hunger out, along with his guts, and David's blood, and anything that is turning him into this starving monster.

"Make your choice, Michael," David growls, his tolerance worn. "Or I'll make it for you."

"Oi," his grandfather says, eyes still locked on Michael's. He's never really looked before, but when he does, Michael can see the tiredness in the old man's eyes; the age weariness behind the heavy gaze. "You take what you need, boy. Old man's time was runnin' out soon anyhow," he chuckles wryly.

"Dad,  _stop it_!" his mother sobs. Sam shakes in the chair beside her with a small whimper.

"Grandpa, you can't!" he cries, snot and tears streaking his face. Michael thinks he looks like a blubbering mess, his strong facade from seconds prior now replaced by an even greater vulnerability.

Michael wants to comfort his brother, wrap him up into a hug and let him cry on his shoulder, but all the misery in the room must be the final straw for the hunger to take over. He finds himself lunging forward before he can stop himself, the faint sound of his mother and Sam screaming nothing but white noise underneath the pounding in his skull.

***

David had pictured this moment from the night he'd laid eyes on Michael across the boardwalk; how it would happen, what it would look like—all down to the fine, gritty details. What he had pictured was not… whatever  _this_  was.

Michael lunges for the kitchen table, but instead of going for any of his family members or the brats he goes for the fridge, slamming it open. David watches him knock things away, root beers smashing onto the floor in his determination to find what he's looking for.

***

Michael never wanted to feed from anyone. He wasn't a  _killer_. Hunger rages inside him, his family's scents overpowering, but he can't. He can't kill them.

Instead of sinking his fangs into a throat or pulse, he propels his body into the fridge and begins rummaging through it. He empties the shelves of root beer until only two jars are left; hidden away at the back, filled to the brim with shiny red liquid.

Michael grabs the jars and opens one, tearing the lid off and throwing it behind him. In an instant the smell hits him, and his mouth salivates.

***

Fucking animal blood.

David wants to roar and howl in fury as Michael tips the contents of the jar down his throat, the blood gushing out and dripping onto the floor. If only it were  _human_ blood Michael were drinking, he probably would have cheered at the sight of the boy making such a mess.

"Michael!"

Michael doesn't respond to the order of his name, just continues to slurp the blood at the bottom of the jar, tongue trying to lick up the last of it. When that's done, he throws the glass and it shatters, more blood combining with the pools of root beer and gore saturating the floor. Michael doesn’t pay that any attention, either, and twists the lid off the second jar before guzzling the contents down with an eager moan.

_"Michael!"_

David's head snaps around in the direction of the table, where Sam is staring at his brother in terror and disgust, and he would have smirked if it weren't for Michael's reaction to the kid's voice.

***

_"Michael!"_

Michael hears the piercing voice beneath the rush of blood in his veins; the hunger calls to him, to keep feeding, but he stops. He drops the jar in his hand, the sound of glass breaking tiny compared to the same voice still shrieking his name.

 _Sammy_ , he thinks when he looks up. His brother is completely petrified, his skin ashen against the colourful shirt he is wearing. His mother's complexion is the same, her eyes clenched shut as she mutters things he can't hear under her breath. His grandfather is looking at him with a glare of frustration.  _But why?_ he asks himself. He'd saved his life by drinking the animal blood. Why did he seem so… angry?

Before he can begin to even think about what to say, a loud snarl reverberates from behind him.

***

David snorts as the dog charges into the room, his earlier irritation at Michael listening to his brother but not his sire forgotten at the display of this stupidly brave mutt facing off against something that could easily tear it apart.

"Nanook, get out of here!" Sam cries in alarm.

David can see Michael lick his lips, fangs peeking out; the hunger for fresh,  _warm_ blood too powerful to resist. He knows what's going to happen before it does, and he stands there to watch with a grin on his face as Michael's instincts take over.

***

"Michael, Michael, Michael," David says, his tone sharp and mocking.

Michael pants raggedly, blinking wetness out of his eyes as his vision clears, the hunger ebbing away slowly. David's words ring in his ears and he turns to face him. He is immediately overcome by the sick nostalgia from  _that night_ at the piercing amber eyes leering his way.

" _Down_ , boy," David rumbles.

Michael doesn't get it… until he sees the body at his feet.

"O-O-Oh,  _fuck_ ," he whimpers.

Nanook is lying there, lifeless eyes staring up at him and guts spilled out across the floor, the dog's soft underbelly slashed open. He glances at his hands, feeling them sticky, and gasps at the blood drenching them.

 _W-What have I done_ …

He hears his brother's distressed wails, his mother's choked sobs, and David's harsh laughter in the background. His grandfather is silent and grim-faced, the Frogs are squawking behind the tape on their mouths—and Nanook is dead.

_WhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdone…_

Michael panics.

***

David would have liked to finish the Emersons and those little shits off himself, but all that's out the window once he realises Michael isn't just freaking out.

He's having a fucking panic attack.

David considers grabbing Michael and making for the exit, but he's never seen any half experience a panic attack before, so he has no idea how Michael will react if he gets too close. He knows he could take Michael if the boy tried to go for him, but he also doesn’t want to hurt him.

Against his better judgment, David flees the Emerson house alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Michael still hasn't completely turned (what a lifesaver animal blood is, huh—can thank Grandpa's taxidermy for that) and is now stuck in the house with the Frogs and his family. What next? Hmmmm... rest assured that David has a plan.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than normal, but I needed to get this out. I struggled a bit with voices this chapter, but I really hope it is believable.

Michael has never suffered anything as intense as what he's experiencing right now. Sure, he has panicked before, but… but no,  _fuck_ , no, this is different. His heart's hammering in his throat, air escaping his lungs quicker than he can draw in his next breath, and Sam's agonised yowls are at such a high tempo in his ears that his brain feels like it's about to explode. He puts his hands over his head, eyes clenched shut, hunkered down on the floor in a shaking ball, and the mess he'd made is soaking into his jeans, sticky and wet, but he doesn't register anything other than the bloodcurdling scream his brother lets out.

_"YOU KILLED HIM MIKE! YOU KILLED MY DOG! NANOOOOOOK!"_

_I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry_ , he thinks, pleading, begging; for his family to not hate him, for his life back, for this all to end. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want this,  _he doesn't want this_ …

_"Michael! Oh, Michael!"_

His mother's sobs are the last thing he hears before the pressure in his skull becomes too much, vision dimming as he slips into a restless unconsciousness.

***

David returns to the hotel, seething with rage. This was not what he'd wanted; no, what he'd  _wanted_ was for Michael to kill his family. No family, no emotional attachments. He's seen what can happen when a vampire's family is left breathing too long—they cling to their humanity, that past obligation to give a shit—and he'd rather not let it get in the way of his bond with Michael.

Later, as he sits in his wheelchair and has a cigarette, allowing the nicotine vapours to relax him, he stares at the bed Star used to sleep in. Star. Oh, sweet, reckless,  _stupid_  Star. He misses her a little bit. Maybe not for the right reasons. After Max's blood she'd been compliant enough, knew what disobeying an order would do. She kept to herself while looking after Laddie, listened, and did not speak unless she was told to. But after Michael, she'd been easily led astray. She didn't listen, talked way too much, tested his patience; on some nights, he's not ashamed to say he'd thought of snapping her neck and throwing her out to sea.

If it weren't for Star, though, he wouldn't have met Michael.

Michael. Gorgeous, stubborn,  _frustrating_  Michael. Fuck, but above all that, Michael was  _his_ … and he'd left him there in that house, with people who could turn on him any second. What a dumb, last-ditch idea that had been.

David flicks the cigarette to the ground, watches as the embers drift away, and thinks. He knows he can't go back tonight. It's not worth the risk, too many chances he's not willing to take. He'll have to go tomorrow, no matter the fight he could well possibly be walking into, and stay on high alert in case they've stocked up on 'hunting supplies' and are waiting for his arrival, like that night he still tries hard to forget. He'd lost his boys,  _everything_ , for this kid. There's no way he's giving up on Michael now.

Not when he's so close to breaking him.

***

Sunlight sears behind Michael's eyelids as he opens them tiredly, wincing at the burn. When he's able to see straight without the glare hurting his eyes too much, he realises he's lying on his bed. Wait. How… how did he get here?

"Been wonderin' when you'd wake up."

Michael glances around at the voice, head turning to find the source, and stops once he notices his grandfather sitting in a chair blocking the door. Immediately, he understands something is wrong.

"What'd I do?" he rasps, rubbing at his eyes; they still sting, but not as bad. His room doesn’t look any different to how he'd left it the last time he was here, apart from a new mattress it seems like, but it does nothing to ease the guilt pooling in his gut. "D-Did I hurt someone?" Oh, god, he… he  _couldn't_  have…

"Dog's dead. Killed 'im pretty good, you did. Sam ain't too happy. Your ma, neither," Grandpa responds offhandedly, downing a swig from the root beer in his hand before glaring at him. "Ruined my stash, too. Don't do that again."

 _Wait, what, I killed Nanook?!_ he thinks, and then as a quick afterthought, _Why does Grandpa sound so calm about this?_

"Wha… what…" he falters, unable to produce words, eyeing the door. His grandfather sighs.

"Ain't gonna like it, Michael, but ya stayin' here. 'Least till things cool off downstairs. Those two friends of your brother's? Not real friendly right now, eh. Keepin' watch to make sure they don't get any bright ideas."

Michael blinks owlishly, still incapable of making sense of this all. Where was David? Why was he here? Fuck,  _why_ had he killed Nanook? He doesn't remember anything but being hungry, then full, then… then…

"I—I ate…" he breathes, feeling sick. He holds his stomach, lifts his shirt and stares; to see if there's a lump, claw marks, anything that shows he ate the dog, his brother's pet,  _Nanook_ … "Oh,  _shit_ ," he groans, rubbing at his eyes, this time to wipe away the tears. Sam is never going to forgive him. He's lost him forever.

"Only ate the dog, boy," his grandfather says sternly. Michael looks at up him, confused and distraught, gaze blurred from the wetness in his eyes. Grandpa is watching him with a sour expression. "Your ma's a mess, but she's  _alive_. Sam. Those kids. You coulda done a whole lot worse. You best be rememberin' that now, huh."

Michael knows it's true—he could have seriously fucked up last night, murdered his family—but it doesn't help anything. He still killed someone.  _Someone_. Because even though Nanook wasn’t human, he was the closest friend Sam ever had. Now he was gone, and it was all his fault. He did this.

Not David.

 _Him_.

***

"So, your grandpa keeps blood in his refrigerator," Alan says suspiciously. Edgar is silent beside them, eyes narrowed as he inspects the area where the smashed jars on the floor were. He swipes a finger through some leftover blood, lifts it to his nose, and grimaces. Sam almost snorts at that, sniffling into his shirt sleeve to hide his amusement.

"Taxidermy," he mumbles softly. He can't stop staring at the spot Nanook had been. After Michael had fainted, Edgar and Alan had managed to cut their binds with a pocket knife they'd been hiding and release them all. Grandpa had taken Nanook outside and buried him in the back garden while his mother had rushed to his brother's side to fuss over him; a mother's love knew no bounds, even if her son was now a dog murderer.  

"Nasty stuff," Edgar mutters, then turns to Alan. "Better than us though. Saved our lives." Alan nods.

" _Hey_!" Sam snaps, a fresh wave of tears forming in his eyes. Edgar looks at him sheepishly, Alan doing the same, but he's not convinced they're even a tiny bit apologetic. "You guys should just go," he huffs.

"We're not leaving, Sam." Edgar awkwardly puts a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, you need our help."

"I don't—"

"You do," Alan cuts in. "Your brother's not a bloodsucker yet, but he will be.  _Soon_. You need all the help you can get…" He meets Edgar's eyes mid-sentence.

"…to protect your loved ones," Edgar finishes seriously, turning from Alan to face Sam with a grave expression. "You need us, Mr Phoenix. We can help you."

Sam hesitates, but the penetrating weight of Alan and Edgar's gaze is what allows his next word to slip out weakly.

"O-Okay."

***

Michael sleeps for most of the day, tossing and turning. At times, he swears he hears David calling to him, whispering his name, but whenever he wakes up and looks around there's nothing there; only Grandpa, snoring in his chair, doing a damn good job at playing dead too.

_"Disgusting."_

_"Yeah, for sure. Not like any of these comic books, man. Thing exploded the pipes and went, like, all over us. Bloodsucker everywhere!"_

_"Ew, Edgar! Gross…"_

Michael winces as the three voices carry from downstairs, the loud pitch grating on his nerves even though he should be far enough away to not be disturbed.  _Must be reading those stupid horror comics again_ , he thinks tiredly, before trying to shut his eyes and continue sleeping.

_"You, uh, you don't think Mike will go like that… do you?"_

_"A volcano? Nah. Doubt it. We're not doing anything like that again. Too much mess."_

_"We'll use a stake. Straight through the heart. Minimal effort. Minimal clean-up."_

_"I don't know…"_

Michael winces for a different reason this time, offended and upset at the information he's hearing. So, what? Sam's going to kill him now?  _Guess I kind of deserve it_ , he thinks, sullen, burying his face in the sheets and throwing a pillow over his head.

 _Still don't mean it doesn't hurt_ , he realises.

***

David has been trying to get through to Michael all day, but he hasn't received any signs that Michael's still breathing. Part of him wants to start fearing the worst, give up, but the other part of him is confident, knows Michael is fine. He wants to fly to the Emerson house and rip all their throats out, take Michael away and never look back. Maybe Santa Carla was a doozy, after all. They could find a nicer place, somewhere the locals were less inclined to drive a stake through your heart, throw you into a bathtub of holy water or blow you up with a stereo.

 _'Michael…'_ He tries to reach the boy again, waits a few minutes, idly smoking his cigarette, but no thought returns to greet his. Shit, maybe the kid  _had_ died. No. He was still alive. He had to be. By the time night falls David is already lingering at the entrance, and as the last light of day disappears he takes to the sky.

Michael was coming home.

 _Tonight_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: David to the rescue!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters may be progressively getting shorter, yikes, but my mind's been on a whirl lately and I think I know where I want this to go now.

The Emerson house is quiet,  _too_ quiet, when David circles the surrounding perimeter. He lands on the edge of Michael's window, peering inside while being cautious not to let himself be seen. Grandpa Emerson is snoring, hunched in a chair facing the bedroom doorway. David rolls his eyes. Even though he wants to rid himself of Michael's family and the Frogs before the night is over, this isn't time for stupidity; any further actions need to be planned, not rushed.

 _'Michael_ , _'_ he thinks, watching the boy's form on the bed. Michael's head is covered by a pillow, curled into himself as he sleeps. He should be awake by now, but David's not entirely sure how long the effects of panic attacks can linger.  _'Michael.'_

 _'…D-David?'_ the reply slurs tiredly.

David feels relief at the answer.  _'Bingo.'_

Michael's body shifts, hand slowly coming up to push the pillow away from his face, and his eyes are squinted as they glance around the room groggily.  _'You're back.'_ It's not a question.

 _'What, you didn't think I'd leave you here, did you.'_ Michael frowns.  _'Come on.'_

 _'No, I didn't.'_ Michael sounds frustrated.  _'I can't go with you, David. They need me.'_

David growls.  _'I thought you wanted to keep them safe. We both know you're not.'_

Michael flinches. _'I could be. Grandpa has animal blood. I could drink that, survive on it. I don't need to kill anyone.'_ He sits up, eyes locking with David's own from the other side of the window glass.  _'I won't hurt them.'_

 _'You already have_. _'_ David glares at him.  _'You think they're_ not _going to be afraid of you after what you did?'_

 _'Stop.'_ Michael's thought is strained.

_'You know as well as I do that Sam will never look at you the same. You're not his brother anymore. He'll only see a bloodsucker that killed his dog.'_

_'Stop!'_

_'No, Michael, you're going to listen to me.'_ David checks on the old man in the corner to see if he's still asleep. Perfect.  _'Nobody needs to die tonight. Just come on out, and it can be like we were never here.'_

Michael looks like he's considering the idea, before the sound of scuffling feet on stairs reaches David's ears. Michael's, too, if the irritation in his eyes is any suggestion.

 _'Guess not, huh.'_ David smirks.

***

Edgar holds a finger to his lips as he crouches behind the door, Alan beside him, a sombre expression on his face. They waited until Sam and Lucy returned to their rooms, sneaking upstairs after they agreed both of them would be asleep.

No way are they letting that bloodsucker live after what he'd done to Sam's dog. If Nanook hadn’t raced in when he did, Michael would've no doubt bled them dry. It had been too close for comfort, and they both knew what they had to do.

Truth, justice and the American way needed to be restored.

***

Michael doesn't want to think about who is behind the door. He'd heard the Frogs whispering to each other after his mother and Sam said their goodnights, presumably going to bed. Sam had pulled them aside beforehand to beg them not to do anything tonight, and both boys had said they wouldn't; half-heartedly, lying through their teeth.

 _'It's them_ , _'_ he tells David. His grandfather exhales loudly in his sleep, unaware of the sneak attack being planned right underneath his nose.

 _'Idiots_ , _'_ David hisses, then, as a sly afterthought,  _'You hungry?'_

Michael shakes his head.  

David sighs.  _'This is who you are, Michael. Whether you like it or not.'_

Michael bites his lip.  _'I never wanted this. Any of this.'_

 _'Well, tough shit_ , _'_ David snaps, losing his patience.  _'If you don't come with me, we're going to have a problem.'_

David's right.

Michael can hear the Frogs muttering to each other, trading information; who will go in first, how do they distract the old man, do they have a substitute plan in case he tries to fight them, or if Sam comes in, or if the other shit-sucker comes back. The last one causes Michael to snort.

 _'You hearing this?'_ he questions David amusedly. David ignores him and points to the window in front of him.  _'You_ don't  _want to kill them?'_ He's surprised David hasn't broken in already and caused a scene.

 _'Distractions_ , _'_ he says simply, rolling his eyes.  _'Hurry up and get out here, Michael. Now.'_

Michael hesitates, but the riled look in David's eyes has him walking over to the window. He gently slides the glass up, and no sooner after that David's pulling him outside and slamming it shut.

"What did you just say about distractions?!" he whisper-shouts in panic as he looks behind him. Grandpa has woken up and is staring at him, an awfully neutral expression on his face. …Huh?

"Old man doesn't seem to care." David shrugs. "Let's go."

"No, wait," he says, trying to shake David's arm off. "I need to talk to him. If I'm…" He swallows. "If I'm never coming back, I need—"

"Don't be stupid," David growls, just before the Frog brothers burst into the room and start running over to the window, stakes raised. Fuck. "Oh, look, your brother's friends are here. Sure you don't want anything to eat, Mikey?"

Michael knows what David's doing. He refuses to give in.

"Whatever, let's go," he murmurs.

David nods in approval.

***

Edgar and Alan barely make it to the window to watch the bloodsuckers fly off, tumbling into the wall, cursing and elbowing each other out of the way.

"Lost 'em!" Edgar spits, wincing as Alan knocks into his side to get a better view.

"We were too slow," Alan mutters.

Edgar turns to stare at his brother exasperatedly. "Nice observation, Al," he grumbles, punching him in the arm.

"What do we do now," Alan says, rubbing his arm and glaring at his brother.

Edgar sighs, about to reply, but they both jump and let out startled screams when a tired, cranky voice speaks from behind them.

"You two get to bed and stop messin' with things you don't understand," Grandpa barks.

"Y-Yes, sir," they both cough while sharing annoyed but nervous glances, leaving the room in a reluctant hurry.

Grandpa cracks open another root beer, relaxing back into his chair with a throaty chuckle as he stares at the window. The light of the moon reflects against the bottle, revealing the substance inside; a dark liquid, what one might second-guess as root beer, nothing more.

 _Hope ya know what you're doin', kid_ ,he thinks, gulping down the contents of the bottle.

***

It takes Michael longer than he would like to admit to notice the direction they're heading in is a completely different one to the hotel. David is holding him tight, their bodies pressed close, gliding through the high winds, and the man snickers once he picks up on Michael's thoughts.

"Need to be quicker than that, Mikey," he teases. Michael would roll his eyes, but the tone of David's voice does everything to set him on edge.

"Where are we going?" he asks, twisting his head to see David's smirk. "Where the hell are you taking me!"

David laughs, soft, then louder as Michael growls and struggles in his arms. "Relax," he says, though Michael glares at the growing smile on the man's lips. "Just enjoy the ride, Michael. We'll be there soon."

Michael can't do anything but listen. If he tried to break free he'd only be escaping to fall to his own death; flying by himself wasn't a skill he'd acquired yet, and even if he was able to fly, run away, David would surely follow him across the country—the  _world_ —before he let him go.

"That's it," David purrs. Michael trembles at the warm gust of breath on his neck, soothing against the cold winds. He closes his eyes, hoping wherever David is taking him isn't a trap.

***

As they pass over the  _WELCOME TO SANTA CARLA_  sign, David grins.

It was time to find the last surviving members of their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come very soon ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ermmm... sorry? I promise things will get better... kinda.

Star's feet ache as she walks over to the table at the far corner of the diner, holding a steel tray with two cups and a jug balanced on top. She finds herself yawning softy while she replaces the couple's near empty and cold coffees with more of the warmer variety, giving them a tired smile as they thank her between a short lapse in their conversation.

"Star, table three still needs their refill!" a voice calls from behind her. She turns to see her boss glaring at her.

"Sorry, I'm coming," she says quietly, but the woman just shakes her head and retreats to the kitchen area. Star isn't too concerned. Jenny never holds onto her temper for long, always quick to bounce back with a fond eye roll or pat on the shoulder. She busies herself by refilling the man's coffee, nodding at his murmur of appreciation.

"Okay, hon, shift's over!" Jenny shouts from the kitchen, popping her head around the corner with a weary tilt to her mouth, no traces left of her annoyance from earlier. It's barely been an hour since Star slacked behind, now serving a customer her cup of hot tea, and she mimics the kind expression the elderly woman sends her way before she heads behind the counter to return the tray and collect her jacket.

"See you tomorrow night," Jenny says while Star unties her hair from its bun, shaking out the frizzy mess.

"See you," she replies, stifling another yawn.

***

"Star!" Laddie cries as she walks through the motel room door, running up to hug her. Star laughs as she scoops him up, brushing his hair away from his face; the locks have somehow grown longer since they'd left Santa Carla not even a week ago, past his shoulders and all shaggy at the back. Star has to blink once or twice to stop herself thinking of Dwayne, and how similar the little boy seems to be in resemblance.

"What did you get up to tonight?" she asks him, sitting down on the bed. Laddies rearranges himself on her lap, his eyes lighting up as he rambles on about he'd drawn a picture and watched TV. "A picture, huh? We don’t have paper or pencils," she teases him, though is curious to hear the tale of how he got them.

"Michael gave them to me," Laddie exclaims happily, unaware of the slip in her grin.

Star's stomach drops as she struggles to breathe. "Laddie," she says, her voice a choked whisper. "Michael's not here. He's still in Santa Carla, remember?"

Laddie gives her a funny look, as if she's grown two heads.  _Wouldn't be the oddest thing he's seen this summer_ , she thinks with a nervous gulp.

"No, no, Star! He's next door!" Star doesn’t think it can get any worse, but then Laddie bobs up and down with a small giggle. "They came back for us!"

" _They_?" Star murmurs to herself, having trouble making sense of what she's hearing.

Laddie's smile and enthusiastic bouncing stops. "Star? Star?" Star holds onto Laddie, her grip shaky as she closes her eyes. "Star, I'm sorry, please,  _please_  don't be mad," he whines, wrapping his arms around her, trying to cheer her up. "David only wants to help."

Star's breath catches in her throat, her eyes opening in a burst of fear.

" _No_ …"

***

"So, when do you think she'll start running?" David says in mock contemplation.

Michael, lying on the motel bed, rolls his eyes but doesn't respond. He can hear Star's heartbeat like thunder, so loud he can almost  _taste_ it, and that thought is not something he wants to dwell on.

"Ignoring me now, huh? Good for you." David chuckles out an inhale of cigarette smoke, the  _NO SMOKING_ sign in the corridor obviously not a clear enough deterrent for the undead, it seems.

"Not ignoring, just choosing to listen," Michael replies on a whim, smirking when David freezes.

"If you were a good listener, Michael, we wouldn't be here," David huffs, a hint of a growl to his tone. Michael sits up at the first sign of the man's temper, raising his eyebrows.

"Right," he drawls. "Sure."

David scowls, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the rugged carpet; not that it could make the stained material any worse than it is. "You have a smart mouth," he says, too nonchalantly for Michael's peace of mind.

Michael bites his lip, staring down at the dirty floor. "Sorry," he mutters, chancing a quick glance to see David's narrowed eyes cutting into him. "I'm sorry," he tries again, this time more sincerely, or as sincere as he can be without putting it on thick.

David's glare doesn't fade. "Not smart enough," he grumbles, and before Michael can use up another pitiful apology he's on his feet, already halfway to the door. Michael watches him, hesitant, not sure what he's meant to be doing. David turns around when he's at the door and gives him a withered expression. "You coming?"

"I… I guess?" he says cagily, standing and following David out. "Where are we going?"

David laughs.

***

Star's back straightens at the throaty sound outside the motel room's four walls.  _David_ , she thinks, horrified. Laddie is still aggressively hugging her, not letting up on his efforts to make her feel better, but she doesn’t think it's going to work. He's here, and she's not getting free this time. He'll never let her go now.

"Laddie," she says urgently, the boy moving back to stare at her in confusion. "Laddie, we need to leave."

"Not again," he whimpers, eyes beginning to shine with tears, and Star's heart sinks.

"We're not safe." She shakes his shoulders in an attempt to get him to understand. " _Please_ , Laddie."

"But, but, but…" Laddies stammers.

_"Room service!"_

Star and Laddie both jump, Star in fear, Laddie in delight, at the call from outside.

***

"Think she heard us?" David smirks.

"Yes, David, I'm sure she heard the person loudly yelling right outside her room," he sighs in annoyance. David's smirk doesn’t wane, but hey, at least he's in a better mood than a few seconds ago. Michael wonders just how easily the vampire can fluctuate between emotions; he's not too sure if it's healthy, though, really, he's not exactly the expert on healthy coping mechanisms himself, either.

The door opens and a stoked Laddie stands in the entrance, big eyes wide with excitement.

"David!" he shouts, barrelling into David's legs and latching on tight.

Michael doesn't cringe, yet he's not comforted by the idea of Laddie being so happy to see David. Especially not when Star is sitting there, her eyes teary, heart still beating so wildly Michael can imagine what the texture of her blood would feel like on his tongue.

"Hey, kiddo." David ruffles Laddie's hair affectionately, the boy preening at the touch, before his eyes find Star's recoiling form on the bed. "Hey, Star." His tone is casual, almost friendly, and Star's eyes immediately dart to stare anywhere in the room but at David.

"Please," she whispers.

"Star." Michael wishes she would look at him, but she refuses to meet his eyes also. "Star, why did you leave?"

Star shakes her head, a tear escaping her eye and trailing down her cheek; the scent, salty, a little sweet, hits him like the perfect kryptonite. "Go away, both of you," she says stiffly.

"You never said goodbye," he growls, hurt a solid punch in the gut at her dismissive tone.

"Oh, no, you've made Mikey all upset," David says in fake sympathy, and this time it's Michael's turn to glare.

"Fuck off," he spits. Star flinches, withdrawing.  _Shit_. Michael remembers too soon that anger is a trigger for the change. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he tries to soothe, hands raised. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

"Get away from me," she sobs. Laddie moves away from David at Star's scared noise, his eyes meeting Michael's own with intense vigour.

"You made her sad," he accuses, fists clenched.

"Don't be afraid, Star," David chuckles. Michael can tell David's impressed at Laddie's protectiveness, his eyes lingering on the boy in appreciation. Michael wonders if that's because Laddie was close to Dwayne or if David simply misses having a young, impressionable mind to bend to his will.

"Come with us," he blurts.

Star stops shivering, sniffling, her eyes slowly raising to land on his; wet, frightened, but he can see a hint of longing, too.

"I can't," she says, shaking her head, bending her knees up and tucking them to her chest before rocking back and forth.

"Why not?" Michael makes a move to get closer, but Laddie lets out a tiny growl. David cackles. "Come with me, Star. We can start over. You and me." David hums in disapproval. "…and David."

Star's eyes shutter. "That's why," she whispers softly, voice cracking.

Michael doesn’t want to understand, but he does. A small part of him feels the same, wants David to let him go, wants to run away with Star, live and breathe in the sun with her, a normal human existence… but then the larger part of him, this sick and twisted and uncontrollable part of himself he's only recently discovered, wants David, wants to be by his side, for eternity,  _forever_.

"Clock's ticking, Star," David says, looking down at his wrist as if he's wearing a watch. Michael would snort if he wasn't feeling so torn apart.

"I can't go with you," he tells her, mournful of what could have been, what still  _could be_ if she left with them, but the weakening fire in her eyes conveys her decision.

"Neither can I, Michael," she says, low, quiet; giving in, or giving up, or both.

"Well," David claps his hands together, "guess that settles it then."

Michael prepares for his sire to tell him they're leaving for Santa Carla again, maybe for another town, literally  _anywhere_ else, but what comes out of David's mouth next has him reeling back in shock and terror.

"You two just became dinner _._ "


	11. Chapter 11

Star gasps, the noise breathless and strained. Laddie takes a number of tiny steps backward, distancing himself from David as he hurries over to Star, his eyes puzzled and scared.

"W-W-Why?" he mumbles. Michael hears the shattered trust and hurt in the boy's voice, but it doesn't move David at all.

"Life ain't fair, kid." David shrugs, as if it's that simple, eyes vacant of remorse. Michael's sensibilities all shout at him to say something. Laddie's a fucking child. He should have the opportunity to grow up, meet a nice girl—or, hell, maybe guy… not die here, in a dingy motel room, because David was a selfish and arrogant piece of shit.

"David, don't do this," he mutters. He's not going to beg, he can't; that would never work on David. God knows how many times he's wanted to, but he's well aware of the vampire's non-susceptibility to any efforts made with a moral conscience.

Star obviously hasn't figured that out yet, but she's about to learn.

"I'll do whatever you want," she pleads.

David's eyes narrow. "Talk is cheap, Star," he admonishes. Michael watches her eyes glisten with a fresh wave of tears, her bottom lip trembling.

"David," she weeps, " _please_. Let him go. He's just a little boy."

"I know what he is," David snaps, nostrils flaring. "Doesn't change my mind."

"Take me instead!" Star collapses onto the bed in a heavy bout of sobs, entire body shaking as she cries.

Michael catches the faint glint of satisfaction in David's eyes, and with uneasy dread, knows what's happening; David, seeing the harsh reality in front of him. Star would _hate_ being a vampire, but is willing to risk her future life's happiness to save Laddie. If anything, it ticks all the boxes for David's power trip fantasy.

He can’t let that happen.

No, not Star.

"You know she doesn't want this, David," he says. Laddie is staring at him and crying now, too. "Star, you don't need to do this."

"It's her choice, Michael." David's voice is tense, an order to stay out of it, but he doesn’t care.

"Star, please, think about what you're doing. You don't want this. You said it yourself, you _can't_ ," he emphasises.

Star raises her head feebly, tears streaming down her cheeks, and it causes an irrational surge of protectiveness in the hollow of his chest.

"David," he growls roughly. "Let them go."

David does certainly look baffled for a moment, nasty exterior gone. It's short-lived. "Be very, _very_ careful, Michael," he warns.

"No," he snarls, feeling his chest burn and his teeth sharpen. "You're going to let them go."

"Now, why would I waste good food after coming all this way?" David chuckles darkly.

Michael almost punches David in the face for the callousness of his reply, but manages to reign in his anger. If he's going to change David's mind, he needs to keep his cool; needs to be smart, tactful. He takes a deep breath.

"You let them go, and I'll… I'll feed. Tonight." The last word comes out thick, grinding on his teeth.

David's expression is washed of its condescension for three short seconds, before his lips split into a broad grin. "Big words, Mikey. Sure you can swallow them?"

 _Wouldn't be the first time I've had to_ , he thinks bitterly, remembering how he'd agreed to move to Santa Carla; a carefree smile and forced, hopeful thoughts. His mother's hug had felt suffocating that day, much like the pressure he's feeling right now.

"Yes," he says, trying to sound confident and sure, instead of the anxiety-ridden mess he is on the inside. David doesn’t need to respond in words, confirm the deal is complete, because the greedy twinkle in his eyes is enough.

Star flinches, her eyes widening as she scrambles to her feet in an attempt to run over to him. She slips in her frantic haste, dropping to the floor with a loud whimper, and Laddie is instantly there next to her.

"Michael, _no_!" she yells, near hysterical as the young boy hugs her in distress.

"Star, it's okay," he says, but the 'okay' wavers, shaky when it leaves his lips. Star stands, unsteady on her feet as she walks over to him, Laddie refusing to let go of her skirt and trailing beside her. He kneels down to the boy and ruffles his hair, and Laddie sniffles. "You take good care of her, buddy, all right?"

Laddie nods. "I will," he mumbles, then hesitantly leans into him for a hug. Michael is surprised but accepts the embrace, patting the boy on the back. Star is staring down at them, biting her lip, tears still dripping down her face.

"Don’t forget about me," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, to no avail. Star launches herself into his arms, crushing his ribs as she hugs the breath out of him, but he doesn't mind. This is the last time he'll ever get to touch her, feel her warmth against him, hear her sweet voice. She could break all the bones in his body and he'd still be grateful for this final act of desperate love.

"Don’t forget about me," she echoes, voice whispered and hoarse.

" _Never_ ," he promises.

He doesn't think about how they both know it's a lie.

"Okay, that's more than enough." David's hands pull him away from Star forcefully and Michael lets him. Even if he wanted to fight back, break free, he knows he's already conceded to a losing battle; a battle David has just won.

***

Lucy Emerson paces across the kitchen floor, eyes watery, hands clenched tightly around the cup of tea she'd made before her father had left the house for the Widow Johnson's. He'd explained the situation while patting Windex on his chin, calling it a substitute aftershave—which she found absurd, and had said so—while Sam and his two friends had muttered some sort of 'plan' to each other from above the stairs.

Lucy just wishes Michael would come home. She knows he's not safe, and although her father had told her David—the vampire, she reminded herself shakily—wouldn't hurt him, she was not convinced. She'd seen what those things were capable of, had witnessed Max's face change before her very eyes as he'd thrown Michael across the room. They were dangerous, and her baby was not safe.

"Michael, honey, if you can hear me," she mumbles softly, before laughing to herself in delirium. Gosh, this was silly. "If you can hear me," she continues, closing her eyes and praying to a man she wasn't sure she believed in anymore, "please, _come home_."

***

"Your brother's a goner, my friend," Edgar tells Sam, sitting on the bed and sharpening a stake with his pocket knife. "Only one way to end this."

Sam stands up, breathing heavily. "Not a chance," he snaps, annoyed at the pitying glance Edgar and Alan share between each other before turning to him again. "You're not killing Mike."

"We have no choice," Alan says gruffly. "That thing's probably got him to feed already. He's gone, Sam. He's not your brother anymore."

"Like shit he ain't!" Sam explodes, but when the pitying looks multiply by tenfold, he breathes out a loud sigh and tries to calm down. "Look, we can figure something else out. Find a cure. There's _gotta_ be a cure… right?"

Edgar and Alan share another look, before turning to him with grave faces.

"No," they both say, flat and in unison.

Sam huffs, throwing his hands up in the air. "Whatever, guys," he mutters, leaving the room. He ignores their whispers and goes downstairs, sitting down at the table with his mother. She needs him more than those two assholes.

"Oh, sweetie, are you all right?" she asks gently, a concerned look in her teary eyes. Sam nods, even though it's not true. They both aren't.

"Yeah, Mum, I'm okay," he mumbles.

If Edgar and Alan weren't going to help him, he'd figure this out himself. Maybe he'd agreed to their plan after Michael had killed Nanook, and had discussed details earlier tonight… but after thinking about it, _really_ thinking about it, he couldn’t do it. His stomach twisted when he imagined what would happen if he did, how Mike would turn to dust, or splatter him in blood and guts like in those comics.

No, Sam couldn't kill him. There had to be another way to fix this.

Michael _was_ still his brother, and Sam had to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna kill Star, but then I had a chat with Ranranbolly and Kagemirai and decided not to. Thanks guys for talking to me while I wrote this chapter. Hope you guys liked it!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had me so pumped, ugh, you have no idea. I hope the grandpa thing is okay. I honestly wanted it to be kind of crazy, but also believable? 
> 
> Also: warning for homophobia due to some flashbacks (if anyone wanted a warning, just in case).

Michael does not question David on where they're going this time. He can't find the strength in him to care. No matter the destination, the scenery is just going to be the same; some poor, unfortunate victim and his fangs stuck deep in their throat. No, Michael doesn't ask where the hell David's taking him, because he knows he'll only start to think about the distance between there and home. His short-lived past and his doomed eternity.

Star's touch still lingers on his skin, the last tinges of warmth he'll probably ever feel again, and Michael tries not to think about what he's leaving behind; how his disappearance will affect those closest to him.

Grandpa… oh, who is he kidding. Grandpa will just keep on drinking his root beers, eating his Oreo cookies, and making creepy as all hell stuffed animals.

His mother, though, will never stop searching for him. She'll stay awake every night in case he comes back, and put herself into an early grave from all the worry and stress.

Sam will…  _Jesus_. Sam will continue seeing the Frogs, mess with a vampire he can't handle, and either die or turn into the thing his friends kill on the spot.

Michael shakes his head at the thoughts to dispel them, focusing on the wind in his hair and the arms around his chest. David hasn’t said a word to him since they'd left Star's motel room, but he doesn't need to. Michael knows he's kept the man waiting for too long, and this silent treatment is what he deserves;  _needs_ , to be able to address his own anguishes in peace.

 _Sooner I get used to this, the better_ , he tells himself.

***

"Are your friends going to be sleeping here tonight, Samuel?"

Sam glances up from reading his comic book at the full pronunciation of his name, over to the Frogs who are now sitting on the couch. They've stopped their muttering and planning to glare at him over his mother's shoulder, almost warning him not to say anything stupid.

"Uh," he says, mouth moving wordlessly as Edgar nods his head in one slow movement, not breaking eye contact. "Yeah… yeah, I think so."

Lucy smiles. "Okay, honey." Her smile drops as she notices the two boys side-eyeing each other with serious expressions. "You boys, off to bed, then."

"Huh?" Sam balks at his mother's change in mood. "Uh, I mean, sure, yeah, it's getting late, but we—"

"No buts, Sam. I don't want to hear another word. Upstairs. Now."

Sam quirks an eyebrow as he looks to the Frogs for help, but they simply shrug before standing and wandering upstairs. He follows, stopping at the bottom of the stairs to turn and gaze at his mother in confusion. "You're not… angry at me, are you?" he asks.

Lucy huffs out a weary yawn, rubbing her eyes. "No, Sam, of course not." She laughs to herself sadly. "I just worry, is all."

Sam frowns. He knows where this may be coming from. "They're not going to hurt Mike, Mum," he says, voice determined as his frown softens. "He's still my brother and I love him."

Lucy laughs again, this time relieved. "Oh, good," she breathes.

"Y-You thought I wanted him… dead?" He's dejected at the possible insinuation, though kind of understands how his mother could think that way. He's been confiding in the Frogs since… well, technically since moving here; following their lead, and all. Not tonight, though, and not anymore.

"Sam," his mother sighs, her eyes tired and fragile. "I'm sorry. I'm not feeling too well at the moment."

Sam nods, staring down at the floor in guilt.

"Goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight," he mutters before heading to bed, glancing up only to catch the final traces of a weak, dwindled smile on her pursed mouth.

***

Lucy rests her head in her hands, breathing out a heavy gust of air. "What am I doing," she says to herself desperately as she listens to her son's footsteps on the stairs.

 _Oh, Dad_ , _you'd know what to do_ , she thinks.

***

Grandpa Emerson sits in the velvet green armchair with a proud smile, watching Widow Johnson smack her lips as she lowers the bottle.

"This was quite lovely, thank you," she says gratefully, red smeared at the corners of her lips. "Racoon, is it?"

Grandpa Emerson nods. "'Course. What you like, ain't it?" he says, winking.

Widow Johnson giggles, placing the bottle down on the table beside her. Her wrinkled face beams in delight. "Oh, don't you just take care of me, dear… better than my late husband," she adds in a teasing whisper.

Grandpa Emerson chuckles loudly, remembering the man's hot temper better than anything. Sixty long years in an abusive marriage, Widow Johnson was now a widow by her own personal choice; body disposed of in his garden, of course.

"Doing a damn good job of it, too," he agrees, grinning around the lip of his own bottle as she giggles again.

Too bad Lucy's ex-husband hadn't stalked her down to Santa Carla, or Grandpa would have dealt with that right ol' bastard the same way.

***

Michael blinks dazedly at the bright-lit diner sign above them. This… was not what he'd expected.

"Why are we at a diner, David?" he huffs.

"Thought we might get a bite to eat," David jokes, pushing the door open and standing aside to let him pass. Michael doesn't budge. " _Move_."

At David's growl, Michael hesitantly walks through the door and into the diner. David brushes up against his back as he follows, and Michael can almost feel inside him the man's anger replaced by approval. They find a table right near the exit and sit, Michael nestling into the corner, trying to shift away from David who sits too closely beside him.

"Look comfortable, or we'll have company," David says, elbow a sharp jab in his ribs.

Michael notices the server behind the counter glancing their way in confusion; she's young, younger than Star, and Michael doesn't want her to be his first. He puts on his best smile and shuffles toward David in an attempt to seem 'comfortable', lest David do anything he'll regret when the night's over.

"Why are we here?" he asks, muscles tensing as David lifts an arm and puts it around his shoulders. "Also, can you back the fuck off?" he hisses.

"Temper," David warns. Michael holds his tongue, even though he wants to spit something stupid and argumentative in return. "I'm not liking this attitude, Michael. You're lucky I didn't rip your girl's throat out back there."

Michael swallows the words rising in his throat and goes the safe apology route instead. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"That's better." David's tone is dry, but thankfully less irritable. Michael stares out at the street, waiting for the man's next sentence. He sits, trying to loosen his muscles, still tense, now from David's fingers that are forming a gentle pressure on the back of his neck.

The bell of the diner jingles, but Michael doesn’t look away from the window.

"You know, Mike…" David says conversationally, and Michael somehow finds himself hopelessly hanging onto his every word. "…Maybe I've been doing this wrong."

"What?" Michael mutters, confused, turning to look at David who is staring elsewhere. His eyes track the direction of his gaze, only to land on the person who's just entered the diner.

The man's brown hair is shaggy, greasy, and his eyes dart about the place shiftily even as he takes a seat in a booth corner. Michael meets his eyes when the man's ogling stops at their table, and memories of someone in particular flood him all at once.

***

_"No son of my mine is gonna have this shit in their bedroom!" their father screams, tearing down Sam's poster of Rob Lowe._

_"Hey, c'mon, it's just a poster," Michael snaps, annoyance flaring into anger as he watches his little brother's eyes start welling up. His father turns to him with a snarl._

_"Bull," he spits, ripping the poster in two and throwing the discards to the floor. Sam lets out a soft cry. "Quit ya whinin'. You're real lucky I don't beat the livin' shit outta you, boy!"_

***

_"Who the hell was that boy, Sam?" his father asks, low, eyes narrowed._

_Sam scoffs. "Just a friend from school, Dad, jeez," he says, rolling his eyes._

_Michael pushes his brother behind him on instinct, knowing what's about to happen._

_"Don't you fuckin' roll your eyes at me!"_

_His father is standing there like a raging bull, nostrils flared, stormy blue eyes glazed in an anger-induced frenzy._

_Michael takes the punch, head spinning for a quick second, sight blurring. He blinks to clear the fog, but he gets another five punches for letting his brother off easy, Sam shouting and crying for the man to stop._

_Bloody nose, bruised right eye, and a split lip later, his father is walking off muttering about stupid fuckin' shits knowin' their place._

_Michael promises himself that day he'll never let Sam get hurt by anyone if he can help it._

***

_"Please, Robert, you've had enough to drink," his mother says, voice gentle but pleading. Michael waits at the top of the stairs, Sam huddled against him, for shit to hit the fan. Soon enough, the sound of glass shattering ricochets off a hard surface; most likely the nearest wall._

_"Shut the fuck up, you dumb woman!"_

_"Oh, goodness! Robert, please, the boys…"_

_"Let 'em hear! I don't give a damn! Maybe'll do the young one some good to hear a man standin' his ground, the little faggot!"_

_Michael feels Sam flinch and bites his tongue, tasting blood._

***

Michael blinks, memories fading like a reel has run out of film, and the man's eyes across the diner squint in scared bewilderment for him to realise he's been staring at the guy intensely.

"Fuck," he hisses, breaking eye contact and looking down at the table. He scrubs a hand over his face, breathing out a hoarse groan.

"See, Michael," David murmurs sweetly.

Michael feels the pressure of fangs in his mouth, need for blood pumping through his veins.

 _Shit_.

"I think it's time we found the right taste for  _you_."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, we finally made it.

David watches Michael fight the change, the boy's hands fisting the sides of the table so hard veins bruise his skin, knuckles white and strained; his face scrunched up, stuck in a twisted state, somewhere between hate and _want_. It would be so easy to get Michael to give in, candy from a baby level of easy, but he knows the importance of moderation, and a diner full of people is not the best place for a vamp's first time unless you're prepared to clean up after a mass slaughter. David's not. Not tonight.

 _'Ah, ah, not here_ , _'_ he says, kicking Michael's shin under the table. Michael snaps out of his hunger-induced panic, mind clear enough to register the thought invading it, and pins him with a look of desperation. _'Bystanders.'_

 _'Are you fucking kidding me?'_ The kid sounds desperate, all right. David almost feels sorry for doing this to him, for forcing those flashbacks, but the sinister joy he gets at Michael's internal struggle is much more satisfying.

 _'Michael_ , _'_ he snaps, raising an eyebrow when the boy lets out a feeble grunt. _'Get a hold of yourself.'_

Michael's eyes narrow, teeth gritted, hands still losing colour from the grip he has on the table, but the fire in his eyes has died down, as have his heavy breaths. "Why are you doing this to me," he complains, the spoken words pained and indignant.

David shrugs. "Why not."

***

Michael should have expected David to draw this out, make him ache with hunger before letting him feed, but somewhere along the way he'd forgotten the games, the mind tricks, and simply got lost in the man's opacity altogether. The fact of the matter itself terrifies him to no end, because when had this slipped his attention, exactly? Yesterday? The day before? The day before _that_? He can't remember.

" _Please_ , David," he begs, isn't sure how pleading is going to help, but not prepared to look a gift horse in the mouth… because that's what this is, right? A _gift_. "I need—"

"What you need is something to drink," David finishes, smirking. Michael's stomach growls, almost on cue, and David chuckles before addressing the server at the counter. _Wait, what, no_. "Easy, Michael. Not yet." When the girl arrives at their table, David flashes her a nice smile, all charm. "Two coffees, black, and hold the sugar, sugar," he says sweetly, sweet as he'd murmured to Michael just seconds ago.

The girl blushes, her confusion and fear from before obviously abandoned; under the spell of David's handsome, boyish looks and well-practiced imitation of a genuine personality. "Sure thing," she giggles, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she hurries off.

"Still got it," David hums, leering Michael's way.

Michael resists the urge to roll his eyes, trying not to glance across the diner at the man again as they wait for the girl to come back. She does, a few minutes later, with two steaming cups of coffee balanced on a tray, and she carefully places both down in front of them.

"Two coffees, black, no sugar," she giggles, smiling at David, who is decidedly not paying any notice to her now he's seemed to have proved a point, or whatever. "And, um, my number, too, if you want it…" she adds shyly.

Michael scoffs when _that_ is what gains David's attention.

"Oh, you shouldn't have," he says pleasantly, and no truer words were ever spoken, far as Michael's concerned. He tucks it into his coat pocket, turning the fake attraction and baby blues on full-force. "I'd better put it somewhere safe then, huh."

Michael does roll his eyes this time, the girl now having retreated behind the counter again, though is still staring at their table, at _David_ , with a faraway look in her eyes. "You're ridiculous," he huffs, sipping from his coffee and wincing at the temperature and blunt taste.

"Should look in the mirror," David quips, fingers idly playing with his cup, but not drinking. "Oh. Wait."

Michael barks out a short, surprised laugh. "Are you fucking serious?" He shakes his head, David's answering grin and the obscene hilarity causing him chuckle.

"No, really," David says, grin slipping, eyes hardening, "look in a mirror, Michael."

Michael does a double take at the coolness to David's words, any teasing gone, and he glances around the diner to see if there's a mirror; there's not, but his reflection in the dark coffee tells him enough. Nothing. There's nothing there.

 _He's_ not there.

" _Shit_!" he yelps, dropping the cup and standing abruptly as the scalding liquid spills over the table and onto his jeans. The man across the diner is gawking at them, eyes wide, as is everyone else. David, however, sits and watches with a passive expression.

"You done?" he says, tapping a finger against the tabletop; slow, deliberate. Michael counts each one, jeans soaked, heart in his throat, unable to speak.

"Oh, gosh, are you all right?!" the server girl asks, rushing to their table, free from her dream-like trance. She's staring at Michael now, eyes frazzled with worried. Michael shakes his head.

"I'm fine," he grits out, wiping at his jeans as he glances at David out of the corner of his eye. David, who is back to smirking like the smug asshole he is. "I… fell asleep." He hears David snort. "Sorry… uh, for the mess. I'll clean it up."

"No, no, it's okay, I've got it!" the girl rambles, awkward and flustered as she begins to pick up the broken pieces of porcelain off the floor. In the midst of it, she cuts her finger, a small whimper escaping her lips as blood drips from the cut. Michael's nostrils flare at the smell, fangs extending.

 _'We're leaving. Now.'_ David's voice shatters his thoughts; it's a command, a vicious one, forced into his subconscious.

Michael obeys.

***

David throws a handful of change onto the table, along with the crumpled note with the girl's number, before pulling Michael outside. Michael doesn't try to struggle, feet and mind both willing to follow him anywhere. He leads the boy around to the alleyway beside the diner, near a dumpster and some empty cardboard boxes, and orders him to wait there. Michael listens. David smiles. That's more like it.

"Won't be too long," he tells Michael, watching the door to the diner for who he knows will be hurrying out soon. True to his word, the homeless man rushes out of the door, looking left and right in unease, bundling his coat around him as he starts walking toward the streets. "Right on time," he snickers. He feels Michael tense beside him.

"David," he hisses, crouched behind the dumpster, eyes darting between the man walking away and his trembling hands. "I _can't_."

David growls, grabbing Michael's arm and forcing him to stand. Michael does struggle, this time, legs kicking out in front of him as he tries to release himself from David's grip.

"Let me _go_!" Michael yells, spitting in his face.

David ignores the boy's protests and the wetness on his cheek in favour of dragging the boy with him, in the direction of the homeless man's slow, ambling steps. Between Michael's loud objections and the silence of the neighbourhood, the guy must sense he's being followed.

He looks behind him and immediately starts moving faster, jogging in his fear, his racing heartbeat a satisfying pulse to David's ears.

***

"First time's a _killer_ , Mikey," David says with a raucous cackle, fangs sharp, eyes gleaming, and Michael's stomach churns in sick delight.

 _No, no, no, I don't want this_ , he thinks, but no matter what he wants, he continues chasing the man through the streets. David could let him go, give him a choice, but he's not sure he would be able to stop himself; control the hunger inside, a needy throb, hot and warm and slick and _so_ _fucking good_ , filling him up, drowning out everything and anything else until—

Michael only realises there's blood gushing down his throat, a screaming and thrashing body in his arms, once a flailing elbow hits him in the chin. He jumps back, startled, eyes frantic, clothes drenched. The homeless man drops from his grip and lies gasping and wheezing for life on the ground, a spreading pool of crimson slowly forming beneath the body.

_'Come on. Have some more, Michael. Just another taste…'_

David's tremulous laughter echoes in his skull, harsh, wild, _beautiful_ , and Michael…

Michael finally gives in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty times are ahead ;) 
> 
> Also, I'm thinkin' maybe one two more chapters before I finish the story off too.


	14. Chapter 14

If anyone had really asked Michael what it felt like to lose his humanity, he wouldn't have been able to give them a… straight answer. No joke on that one, either.

After drinking from his first kill, wetness a slippery smooth glide down his throat, taste of copper and brine but also a deceptive sweetness, nothing about it feels wrong. It feels natural;  _biological_ , almost. A forgotten hindbrain, buried way back in the obscure corners of his mind—since that night he thought maybe he was free from the nightmare, could start over, build a life with Star—instantly latches onto the one thing it  _does_ know, and a missing link, a never fully formed bond, woven through his veins by sire blood, sparks to life.

Michael sees David through the bright red-hot haze of feeding, hunched over the man whose eyes now stare unresponsively up at the sky, a burning rush igniting within him, stronger than the hunger has ever been. In a wordless surge of movement, he lunges for David and knocks into the vampire's chest, feet slipping in the rivers of red trickling across the pavement.

"What's all this then, huh?" David's eyes shine in amusement, but Michael's sure he can detect slight confusion. He hasn't been very forthcoming with their relationship, not wanting to get too close, risk David corrupting his thoughts, his actions. But now? Now he  _wants_.

"Nothin'," he says, giving a toothy smile. He can just picture the mess he is; blood, fangs, eyes of glowing fire. He's everything he's been trying so desperately to avoid, but he doesn't care. This is who he is now.

David's eyes darken, lips thinning into a tight frown. "You're screwing with me," he growls, grasping him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him forward tersely.

"I'm not," he replies, smirking. "I mean, I  _could_ …" He leans in at the sly innuendo, pressing his body closer to David's as he licks a stray drop of blood from the corner of his mouth, sighing and closing his eyes. When he opens them, David's face is more agitated than anything. "David," he continues, simple, sincere. He rests a hand on David's shoulder, looking into the man's crystal blue eyes.

Michael doesn't give David a chance to respond, bending his head down to lick a stripe over David's lips, leaving behind a smear of blood. He's about to lick it off, but before he can David's forcing his mouth open and shoving his tongue inside, stealing the taste of his first kill. He groans into David's mouth, pressing closer, even though they're already close enough that he can feel the hard outline of David against his thigh.

David breaks the kiss after a sharp nip to his bottom lip, drawing blood, but he seems guarded, unsure. Michael knows it's only because he's finally won and the stakes have changed in a way he never expected them to… Or maybe he did, just not like this, not this soon. He grins at the thought.

"Am I making you nervous?" he murmurs, sliding a hand under David's coat and lightly ghosting his fingers up his stomach. David hisses, belligerent and angry, flinching away from his touch.

"Don't get too cocky, Michael," he says, grabbing his hand and holding it in a vice-like grip; it may have hurt once, but Michael barely feels a pinch. He chuckles.

"Whatcha gonna do, David? Put me in my place?" Michael dares, overconfident. He never realised being a vampire could feel this good, that he could be so comfortable and self-assured in his own skin, all of his past and future worries dissipated. It's like a weight, a burden, has been lifted, and after all this time…

He's  _free_.

***

David loathes unnecessary arrogance; a trait so very common in young fledglings. He thought Michael would skip this frustrating stage, eventually settle into being a vampire after moping and sulking and trying to deny who he is, but he's taken to the change just like Paul and Marko once had.

Both boys exceeded normal levels of pride and swagger by their first kill, boasting and bragging about anything to make themselves feel special, important, _powerful_. All petty, stupid shit he hardly remembers. David knocked it out of them in a week, easy.

Thankfully, Dwayne never needed discipline. Dwayne's cool-headed temper appeared to stick around after the change; mellow guy, maybe a bit too serious at times, but control to him had been effortless. Fuck, David misses the bastard. Dwayne would've helped him sort Michael out. He was loyal that way.

Michael's eyebrows are raised, cocky smirk on his lips. No, David isn't going to stand for this blatant disrespect. Michael has already tested his patience, worn it down to the last few dregs tonight, and now… now, there's none left.

"Yeah," he deadpans, hand closing around his fledging's throat, squeezing. Michael winces, but other than that he doesn't show any signs of backing down, smirk still in place. He tightens his hold, fingers crushing bone, and this time Michael's breath falters, the satisfaction draining from his face.

***

Michael's smirk weakens as the severity of David's hand increases, enough for him to push at David's chest to try and dislodge it. His determination proves to be useless, because even if he's a vampire now, David's been one for longer, is capable of so much more than he is. David could snap his neck like a twig and he wouldn't be able to do a single thing to stop it.

"Who's  _nervous_ , Michael," he taunts, but this isn't like those times, where Michael knows he's just playing around, hoping to get a rise out of him. This is  _real_.

"I'm—I'm sorry," he chokes, raising his hands in the air, fighting the urge to go for his throat and release the hands suffocating him. He's apologised before. David accepted it. Maybe he will again.  _Maybe._   _Maybe. Maybe._

David's gaze doesn't waver, neither does his grip. Only one thing changes, and before Michael can figure out what it is, he's dropping to his knees without a consenting thought, mind bowing to a force greater than its own.

"You will be…" David murmurs softly, fingers threading through his hair, wrenching his head up. "Resistance isn't going to save you this time, Mikey."

Michael stares, expression dazed, the burn of his throat a pleasant ache.

David smirks.

"Not that there'll be any left when I'm done with you."

***

Michael's vision returns in a blur of shapes and colours, but suddenly an image surfaces in his mind, cutting them out.

David, one hand holding his head in place, nails scraping against his skull, twisting and knotting in his hair, the other hand cradling his chin in a firm grip, thumb a rough pressure on his bottom lip.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck," he hisses once the image disappears and his vision clears, seeing David towering above him, jeans unbuttoned, eyes sparkling in sated triumph. " _FUCK_!"

"Oh, I'm planning to," David hums. Michael recoils at the hand stroking through his hair, the fingers bringing back phantom touches from something he knows must have only happened moments ago; strung out and used on a dim-lit street, surrounded by blood, a dead body,  _his first kill_ , not a witness in plain sight…

Michael clenches his jaw, huffing a distressed breath through his teeth.

So much for fucking freedom.

***

Sam yawns, rubbing his eyes and immediately cringing as the sun's brightness blinds him. He glances around his bedroom, rolling his eyes when he finds both Edgar and Alan missing from their usual spot. No biggie. Probably left during the night, out to hunt…

" _Shit_!" he yelps, throwing his blankets to the floor. Sam rushes downstairs, skidding to a halt in the kitchen. His mother is sipping from a cup of coffee, and her eyes narrow when she sees Sam come blazing through like his trousers are on fire.

"No running in the house, you'll trip and hurt yourself," she scolds, shaking her head.

"There's no time for walking! They're gone! Edgar and Alan are  _gone_!" he shouts, frantic.

"I know they are, Sam," she sighs, sipping from her cup again before placing it down in front of her. Sam doesn't understand how she can act so… so  _calm_. The Frogs are gone and Michael is  _out there_. Surely, she knows what that means.

"Then you gotta come with me and  _do something_!" He pulls at her hand, trying to get her to stand, but she yanks her hand away.

"Sam,  _please_. Sit down and stop this nonsense," she orders. Sam opens and shuts his mouth, dumbfounded and speechless. " _Now_ , young man."

Sam's mouth gapes like a fish for a few more seconds, but he eventually decides arguing with his mother on a day she needs her morning coffee is  _not_ a good idea. He reluctantly sits down at the table across from her, trying to stop his hands from shaking, from thinking the worst, from picturing Mike's dead bod—

"I know, because I sent those two boys home. They were up to no good, and I'm not going to tolerate such… such  _horrid_ ideas," his mother stresses.

Sam's worrying thoughts are cleared from his conscience. His mother still cares about Michael. Of course she does, it was silly to think otherwise, but for a while Sam wasn't too sure. She didn't try to intervene when Edgar and Alan made plans to kill Mike, and she didn't kick them out on their asses after they had _attempted_  it…

Until now.

"Sam. _Oh_ ,  _goodness_. Sam, are you okay?"

Sam realises he's crying once he feels his mother's hand on his cheek, her gentle fingers wiping a tear. He sniffles. "Y-Yeah. U-Uh…" he croaks, smiling. "I'm okay. I'm just… glad."

" _Glad_?" His mother's eyes widen as she moves her fingers to his forehead, checking for a fever. "Are you sure you're all right? It's not healthy to hide your emotions, Sam. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here to listen, sweetie. I'm your mother. Okay?" Her face is serious, lined in concern, and Sam nods slowly.

"Okay, ma," he mutters, letting his eyes slip closed.

He'll rescue Michael soon.

Right now, he needs to remember just to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man, torturing poor Mikey is so much fun. I'm not sorry. But, hey, at least we get some smut right ;)
> 
> Also, next chapter or the one after will definitely be the last. Looking forward to finishing this up, it's been one hell of a ride so far!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael has a tough time in this chapter, am afraid. David never was one for being gentle.

Edgar and Alan rummage through their bedroom closet, throwing clothes and comics and other useless trinkets behind them as they search for whatever it is they’re looking for.

"Shit, Ed, I don't think it's here," Alan mutters as he raises his upper lip in disgust at the poorly stuffed bear he's uncovered from the piles of shirts in the closet.

"It's gotta be! Where else would we put it?" Edgar argues. He finds a soiled pair of jeans and grimaces, wrinkling his nose. "Oh,  _gross_ , who put this in?"

Alan glances at what Edgar's holding and rolls his eyes. "Probably you when you hit puberty, dumbass," he says, ignoring his brother's offended grumble.

"You think our folks came up here and took it?" Edgar wonders, though quickly shakes his head. "Nah, why would they care. Don't even check the mail."

"Don't really do anything but sleep and smoke, Ed," Alan sighs, lifting a bunch of magazines. "Hey, this it?"

"Let me see?" Edgar asks. Alan passes it to him and watches Edgar turn it over in his hands. "Yeah, that's it all right. Been a while. Gonna need a few modifications, but…"

"It'll work," Alan finishes.

Both brothers nod at each other solemnly.

It was time to save Santa Carla from those shit-suckers once and for all.

***

Michael is no doubt surprised when David tells him they're heading back to Santa Carla. He imagined David would want to start the next few decades of his eternity living elsewhere, far from the place his brothers were slaughtered in cold blood, but David had said the night was not over yet. Metaphor or not, whatever that meant, Michael knew it was not good.

By the time they both fly into the hotel, the sun is just breaking over the horizon. Michael avoids his foot catching fire at the last millisecond and grunts under his breath, smacking David's hands away as he lands on the ground.

"That was too close, David!" he growls, turning to the man. David has taken his jacket off and is stamping down on the flames licking at the black material, smirking like he's having the time of his undead life. Fucking figures. "This isn't funny! We could have died!"

"Could have," David replies with an easy shrug.

Michael feels David's voice crawl under his skin and stay there; an ache of thirst and irritation, threatening to cloud his judgement even more. Something about almost dying and David this tauntingly close has the new immortal side of him wanting to… to…

"Relax, Michael." Michael flinches when David's hands massage his shoulders. "You're tense."

"Wonder why," he mutters, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm his jittery nerves. They should be sleeping soon, their bodies too tired to stay up with the sun, but he has a feeling David's got something else on mind if his lingering hands are any indication. "What are you doing," he snaps, because there's no way he's letting David think he's just going to give in. Not after…

"Nothin'," David says, low, hoarse, and it takes Michael only a few seconds to realise David's insulting him; using the exact same word he'd used before the adrenaline high had subsided, his head had defogged, and he'd found his knees hitting the ground hard, followed by something else he would really rather  _not_ think about, ever.

"This isn't a game," he hisses, stepping away from David's touch and pulling his jacket tight around his body, suppressing a shudder. Unlucky for him, David doesn't seem to think so either.

"No, it's not," David murmurs. Michael can't even fathom a response before he's being gripped by the back of his shirt and roughly dragged over to the bed.

"Let go of me!" he spits, fighting against David's hold on him but finding he's not able to break free. David throws him against the mattress, his head hitting the pillows, body weightless and sore for a moment as he's sitting up, trying to put space between him and David who has crawled in after him.

"Shirt off," he commands.

"Don't," Michael says, voice shaking. He doesn't want this, any of this, not… not like this.

"I'm not going to ask again, Michael." David's eyes bore into his, steely blue, and Michael feels a sick compulsion to do as he's told. David will do it for him if he won't; he doesn't doubt that for a second.

"Fine," he whispers, slipping his jacket from his shoulders, letting it drop down onto the bed. Next, his fingers pull the material of his shirt over his head. He closes his eyes once it's on the bed with his jacket, not wanting to risk looking into David's eyes again and being forced to take anything else off by his own traitorous mind.

"Pants."

" _No_ …" he breathes, keeping his eyes closed. He won't do this.

"Michael," David warns.

"Do it yourself," he says, arms crossed over his chest protectively. David doesn't take his time in removing Michael's jeans and boxers, without any resistance to deter him; wouldn't do anything useful, just serve to piss him off, and Michael knows better than that by now. It doesn't stop him from curling his legs up to his chest anyway, arms coming around his knees, attempting to salvage at least a tiny bit of dignity.

David chuckles, hand clasping down heavily on his left knee, and he flinches. He won't open his eyes, won't give David the pleasure of seeing the objection in them, but is helpless to stop the spread of his thighs as David pulls them apart. This isn't supposed to be happening. Why can't David just let him fucking sleep?

Michael tries to zone out for most of it, think about whatever he can, anything to not focus on every slight hitch of his breath, the fingers pressing into him, unnaturally solid and thick. All he's able to do is prolong his reaction time for the moment he feels David withdraw before shoving into him, unbearably bigger than the fingers had ever been. He lets out a choked cry, body twisting in an attempt to avoid the next thrust, but David's hands hold him still with a painful grip around his hips.

"Stop fighting me," he snarls. Even though Michael's not looking at him, he feels his limbs weaken, the struggle within his mind lessening, until he sags forward. Giving in. "There you go. That wasn't so hard, was it," he breathes, and Michael hisses a sharp breath at the jarring thrust to back up that statement.

Michael, between the hazy flashes of pleasure and the aching burn tearing through his body, hears the mocking pretence behind those words. He opens his eyes, glaring holes into the mattress below him, before arching and pushing against David. " _Harder_ ," he grunts, maybe too shameless now, just wanting this to be over so he can get some sleep.

David growls, fingers threading in his hair, pulling his head back and up to look him in the eyes. Michael trembles at the icy stare, what looks like feral lust and… almost admiration. He's unable to figure out if it  _is_ , however, because David's answering his plea with an unrelenting rhythm that forces his chest into the mattress, spine bowed from the angle.

Michael does zone out this time, and he only comes to once David's body is no longer weighing him down. His muscles are like liquid, soft and tender, while his skin feels bruised and raw. He yawns, winces as a hot tremor flares in his groin, and stifles a hurt gasp as he rolls over to face away from David. David's settled down beside him, their bodies pressed close, his fingers brushing Michael's ribs in lazy strokes. He curls his legs up to his chest and clenches his eyes shut, feeling dirty and used and dead inside.

"Get away from me," he mutters, defeated. David chuckles, throaty, satisfied; doesn't move, but stops trailing his fingers along his abdomen.

Michael counts it as a small blessing and finally lets himself doze off.

***

Sundown finds Michael's newly honed senses awakening, and the first thing he hears is water dripping from a hole in the hotel ceiling. When he was human, the noise would not have bothered him, but now the splat of the droplets hitting the ground is so loud, an echo bouncing off the hollow walls of the cave. He mumbles a curse and rolls over to hide his head under the pillow, his arm bumping something in the process. Oh, shit.

"Watch it," comes a low, annoyed murmur.

Never mind, it's just David.

" _You_ watch it," he hisses back, refusing to let his thoughts wander too close to the surface in case David is listening in. He should practice shutting off the link between their minds; that would be helpful, all things considered, but he's not holding onto any hope since David's a tricky fucker who's probably learned all the secrets there is to entering another person's thoughts without permission.

_'You were saying?'_

"Get the fuck out of my head," he whispers in frustration, shutting his eyes.

"Up," David snaps, ignoring him. Michael groans in protest as he gets a hard elbow to the ribs.

"You know, you could have just asked," he grumbles, picking up the pillow from above his head and aiming it at David. He would usually have more tact not to lash out, but after earlier… no. David deserved it. He'd taken advantage, again, used the bond of their blood to make him submit,  _again_ , and even if some small part of Michael should have expected what happened, he honestly hadn’t.

"This isn't negotiable, Michael," David says coolly. "From now on, you do whatever I say. No questions. Got it?"

"Whatever, asshole," he responds, moving off the bed before he's greeted by a fist in the face or much worse for his blatant disrespect. David's not far behind him, and he winces as a hand squeezes his shoulder with a grip that would have bruised him if he were still mortal.

"And right now, I say we eat."

Michael shivers as David's breath ghosts across the back of his neck, flickers of that morning searing their way into his thoughts. Hands all over him. Breaths panted against his skin. Lewd words growled into his ear. Defiance on his part, until there was nothing left to resist.

"Yeah, sure…" he mumbles, scratching at his head and looking away to hide the shame and resentment pooling in his gut as he strides out of the hotel's entrance; completely missing David's smirk as he follows close behind.

***

Over at the Emerson house, there's a loud series of knocks on the door.

Sam looks to his mother in confusion. "You're not expecting anyone… are you?" he asks hesitantly, but the worry on her face has him panicking. "Stay here," he says.

" _Sam_ —"

"I'm serious, ma!" He pushes her down when she tries to stand, shaking his head. "I'm not gonna let you get hurt."

"Well, I'm sorry, Sam," his mother replies just as sternly, "but as your mother, it's my job to protect you." Sam is unable to stop her this time, and he watches in dread as she places her cup onto the table self-assuredly before standing.

"Mum, _please_!" he cries. "Don't answer it!"

"I'm going to answer the door, young man," she says, tone bordering on no nonsense. Sam squeezes his eyes shut as he hears the door open, preparing for the worst.

_"Ms Emerson, we know you don't want our help, but you need us!"_

_"And we're not leaving this time, either!"_

Sam gasps in surprise, turning to the door to see Edgar and Alan fighting their way past his shocked and babbling mother. When they've managed to get through her and are in the house, all three of them lock eyes, and the boys nod at him once in commando style. Sam notices the water pistol in Edgar's hands, bigger than the one they'd used against Paul, duct tape holding it together. He blanches.

"We're here to save your asses," Edgar grunts.

"And all of Santa Carla," Alan adds gruffly.

Sam would cringe if he didn't already know how serious they both were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will officially be the last, guys. But don't worry. I am still planning to write more in this fandom.


	16. Chapter 16

Michael wipes blood and spit from the corners of his mouth, breathing out a much-needed sigh of release as the thirst is finally gone, sharp pangs attacking his stomach eased for tonight. Instead of dumping them into a random bonfire, David removes their clothing and throws the Surfer Nazis into the ocean. Apparently, you've gotta spice things up sometimes. Luckily, Michael's sure he hasn't heard any news of dead bodies found washed up in Santa Carla, only dozens upon dozens of missing people posters littering any free space worried loved ones seem to thrive in squandering.

"Hey, Michael. Want these?" David holds up a pair of ghastly coloured—can that even be _called_ a colour, seriously—boxer shorts and flashes him a quick grin, to which he rolls his eyes harder than he thought capable for knowing David this long.

"Hell no," he scoffs, glaring at David as he spits a small mouthful of blood onto the sand. Some humans didn’t taste as nice as others, it seemed. Must have been the guy's nasty smoking habit, cancer polluting the blood, or something.

"Shame." David shrugs as he pegs them at Michael's face, which he just barely manages to catch, chuckling when he drops them onto the sand at his feet and stomps on them in brutal determination.

"You're a dick," he snaps, giving the boxers another kick for good measure. Sand covers any sign of their horrendous shade of purple, material worn and tattered from the bottom of his shoe. He nods in approval. Better.

David is watching him in dull curiosity when he looks up.

"What," Michael says, deadpan, blood still a sour taste in his mouth. Ugh. Definitely cancer.

David shrugs again, though now he just looks smug. "Nothing. Let's go." He pats Michael on the shoulder as he walks by, squeezes, touch lingering for a small second, and then disappears.

Michael sighs, shaking off the tingly feeling racing down his spine, and follows in the same direction.

The boardwalk.

 _Great_.

***

"Guys, come on, are we _really_ doing this?" Sam trails behind the Frog brothers as they hurry past strangers, all who stare at them in discomfort. Can he blame them? Edgar's face is slathered in war paint, for some appropriate reason Sam is not able to grasp. At all. Thankfully, Alan's art skills are not as enthusiastic, and are just three black streaks marring each cheek, but…

 _Yikes, no, still bad_ , he mentally slaps himself.

"Yes," Edgar hisses, turning to glare at him with the most judgmental expression Sam thinks he's seen the Frog muster for however long they’ve known each other. "This ends tonight. Not gonna let those shit-sucking freaks think they run this town, man. _No way_."

Sam doesn't think his… friends have thought any of this through properly. What are they gonna do, stake David? The thought of Edgar and Alan facing off against the blond vampire causes a bubble of hysterical laughter to rise in his throat, nearly bursting free from his mouth. But hey, at least then his brother would be human again. It's a sudden, hopeful reminder. Michael is still half. He's gotta be.

Yes. If they somehow kill David, maybe this will all be over.

Really over, this time.

"Okay, well… all right," he says. Alan gives him a look of surprise, but masks it with a tight frown and solid raise of his eyebrows. Edgar's facials are less controlled, the sheer disbelief evident behind the black paint.

"Then let's do this," Alan growls.

"All right!" Edgar yells, startling an old lady who walks on her stick in a slow hobble beside him. She lets out a noise of disgust and then starts hitting him with it, much to Sam's mild amusement. "Ow! Hey! Lady, hey, quit it!"

***

Lucy paces the living room as Grandpa Emerson sits on the couch and watches her, face brooding, no root beer in his hand; had drank plenty with Widow Johnson, more than enough, and his daughter didn't need to see her father having a careless drink while both her sons were gone.

Michael first, and now Sam. Sam permanently, if he didn't do something about it. He's bettin' Michael is fully turned, hanging about with that other one, blondey. Wouldn't hesitate to bite Sam's little head off if tempted by his pounding blood and stupid bravery to win his brother back from the other side.

"I'll find 'im," he assures his daughter. She stares at him aimlessly as he pulls on his coat.

"Da—"

"Michael," he corrects himself. Her eyes widen in fear as she starts to shake.

"No, Dad," he says. He doesn't expect her response, and he stops buttoning his coat to glare at her.

"What'd you mean _no_?" he grumbles.

"I mean," she starts, her voice a thin murmur, "it's not safe. Michael's… Dad, he's not himself. You know that. You _saw_ him. He…"

"He's still Michael, Lucy," he admonishes softly. "Your boy ain't any different in here." He points to his heart; more than aware he's feeding his daughter an optimistic lie. "D'you hear me?"

"…Okay, Dad," she whispers, muffling a loud sniffle into her sleeve and wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Get some rest," he tells her.

Grandpa Emerson leaves the house, preparing himself for the bitter and hurtful truth he didn't want to have to inflict upon his daughter.

***

Michael drifts through the people on the boardwalk, feeling almost ethereal amongst all the blood-warm bodies brushing up against him in the crowd. David walks along further ahead, blending in with the night scene, his dark attire and bleached hair not exactly shy of the style these days. Michael, on the other hand, can't help but feel like he looks out of place, as if he's not meant to be here. He's sure he must fit right in with the other teens; their pierced ears and sad, emo demeanours. His is a fresh, haunting reality rather than a rebellious high school phase, though. It feels different, like someone could point and say, _"Hey, look, that guy's not one of us!"_ and everyone would believe them.

How did David adjust to this life? He wonders if the other vampire had gone through these readjustments after being turned, or if he had immediately found comfort and surety in a new self without this feeling of unbalance. He thinks back to the moment he'd tasted blood for the first time, sinking his fangs into the homeless man's throat and drinking until his mind was empty and his stomach was full. He'd felt free, _alive_ , like he could do anything and it would feel amazing… but now he's off-kilter, falling into a prolapse of emotion he didn't realise he would even be able to feel.

What if these feelings never went away. What if he is stuck in an eternity of misery, contemplating the life he once had, and never getting used to the one he does have. What if David grows tired of him and leaves. Alone, without a guide, walking the earth forever and ever and ever without a path to follow. He would have nothing. He would _be_ nothing.

David stands near a stall, the woman behind it selling dreamcatchers and gemstones eyeing him, a flirty smile on her face, but he's staring at Michael with unwavering focus. Michael swallows, muscles tensing at the electric stir in his gut when he looks into those blue eyes.

_'Michael.'_

Michael's fears and uncertainties dissolve, the voice in his head like a wave carrying them away to a place he can't seem to locate. He searches his mind, but they don't resurface; sunk deep, deep into the murky depths of a conscience he's unable access.

David nods at him once, and there's a short glimmer of something gentle in his eyes, before turning and wandering off through the crowds. Michael knows to follow; the order not direct, but the pressing need to be near his sire enough to urge him forward. He bumps into a few people in his haste, and they mutter rude words to his retreating back, though he ignores them and everything else but the flash of blond trailing ahead of him.

A hand on his shoulder stops him.

"Oi, you got a minute?"

Michael whirls around, fist raised high, ready to hit whoever had touched him, but pauses as he recognises the face. "G-Grandpa?" he stammers, lowering his fist with wide eyes. David has stopped walking, too, and is watching them from a distance.

"Nice to see you alive 'n kickin', boy… sorta," his grandfather says with a dissatisfied hum, staring across the boardwalk at David. David lifts his head in a small, calculated nod. Michael squints in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, shifting on his feet awkwardly. David isn't moving over to them, why? Surely, this isn't an opportune moment. He gives David raised eyebrows of _what the hell's going on?_ but David just raises his eyebrows in return.

"He treatin' you right, Michael?" Grandpa sounds serious when he says it. Michael almost chokes.

"W-What the hell, Grandpa!" he splutters, glancing around to see if anyone has noticed the strange scene taking place on the boardwalk tonight. Not strange enough, it seems, because no one is even looking in their direction.

"Not givin' you a hard time now, is he?" Grandpa's voice is low and concerned this time, and Michael shakes his head on reflex. "Good, good." He nods to himself, eyes still never leaving David, who has now started to finally walk up to them.

"And what do I owe this pleasant surprise," David says, too conversational for Michael to think anything other than _what in the actual living fuck_.

"I came to warn you kids," Grandpa grumbles. David doesn't even react to being called a kid, which is another thing that makes no sense to Michael. "Thought I'd give you both a head's start."

Michael feels himself pale, if that's even possible now. "What?" It's meant to come out as a muted whisper, but comes out in an irritated growl instead.

David chuckles. "Is that so…" His eyes dart around the boardwalk for a quick second; to see if he can pick out two army-dressed brats in the crowd, no doubt. Michael's own eyes track movement on the boardwalk, trying to pinpoint his brother's wardrobe in the throng of people, but has no luck either. David's eyes settle on his grandfather once it looks like there's no sign of them, smirking. "Thanks for the tip."

"I suggest you two hit the road." Grandpa pins Michael with a hardened glare, the force enough for him to recoil. "I don't want no trouble." He turns the glare on David. "Neither do you."

David looks like he's about to snap the old man's neck, and Michael is honestly worried he'll have to watch his grandfather die right in front of him, but David just snorts. "Do we now," he murmurs dangerously.

Grandpa sighs, rubbing his chin, not looking the tiniest bit scared. "That's it," he says, rough and frustrated. He addresses Michael. "Your brother still cares 'bout you, Michael. Know you care 'bout 'im, too."

Michael clenches his jaw shut, tight. "So, what?"

" _So_ ," his grandfather mutters, exasperated, "Sam's comin' to save you, and we both well know you're past savin'."

"He's coming to _kill_ _me_ ," Michael snarls.

"He don't know that yet, do he," his grandfather barks, eyes narrowed.

"That's enough!" David cuts in, pushing Michael to the side and facing his grandfather with a short breadth of space between them. "Listen, _Gramps_ —"

"No, _you_ are gonna listen," Grandpa spits, shoving a finger into David's chest, enough to shove him back a step. Michael freezes. _Shit_. "You took one of my family, and hell you ain't taking the rest of 'em, you hear. Your boys, that gang o' yours, weren’t they important to ya?"

Michael tries to jump between his grandfather and David, diffuse the situation, but after his grandfather bringing up the Lost Boys, it's already too late for that.

"What do you think, old man," David says, awfully calm. Michael gauges his grandfather's expression, but still does not see any fear, just slight agitation and anger. He's unable to read David's expression, but doesn’t need to; can _feel_ it inside, the ripple of fury and inscrutable loss.

"I suppose you know what losin' people you care 'bout feels like, eh," Grandpa says, and this time he's the one who sounds too conversational for Michael's liking. David's as well, if his sire's intense eyes and set jaw are any clue. "Ain't that right?"

"Grandp—" Michael tries to intervene.

"Well, my daughter and grandson are the same to me as those boys were to you. Michael, too, but you've got 'im wrapped around that little finger o' yours already. Nothin' I can do 'bout that now." Grandpa sighs, shaking his head. "But don't be takin' me for an old fool, boy."

Michael blinks in surprise. What the hell is his grandfather talking about?

"What are you talking about," David grinds out at the same time. Michael's surprised he's even having this conversation and not just killing his grandfather where he stands.

Grandpa huffs. "I'm talkin' 'bout the possibility of losin' another one o' those people you so call care about," he says, and when his grandfather's eyes find him Michael nearly loses the capacity to think straight.

Wait, _him_? David cares about him? Seriously?

"You don't know anything," David snarls, sounding almost mortified if it weren't for the venom in his tone. Michael rolls his eyes. Yeah, David caring about him. _Right_. As if the last two nights never even happened. Good one, Gramps.

Grandpa chuckles, dark and humourless. "Maybe not, eh. But y'see, after all these years, I sure can tell ya what _that_ looks like." He raises his eyebrows at David, then at Michael; wry, but also completely serious. Michael does choke this time.

_'WHAT?'_

Michael doesn’t mean for the thought to jolt toward David's mind as quickly as it does, but he's not able to stop it. Neither can he stop David from finally lunging at his grandfather, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up off the ground.

"I think it's in your best interests to get out of my sight, old man," David hisses.

Michael stands there, frozen, still trying to comprehend the last few seconds. Surely, his grandfather is off his rocker. It's impossible. _Insane_. If anything, David loves to torture him and make him question everything about himself and the bond they share… which is so _not_ what his grandfather is trying to insinuate.

"If you could look into a mirror, boy, you'd see what I'm talkin' 'bout," Grandpa wheezes, lips splitting into a weak smile. Michael stares at his grandfather in shock as David throws him to the ground without another word, before crossing his arms in a defensive stance.

Okay, honestly, this is way too weird.

"This is… this is… _nuts_!" he shouts, looking between his grandfather sitting on the ground with a groan and David glaring daggers at him. "David, come on. This is… you're not… _right_?"

David's jaw is clenched so tight Michael's sure if he were human, there would be some broken bones. "No," he snaps, but he doesn't sound unaffected as he should be, which doesn't help.

"Then _why_?" he directs to his grandfather, eyes livid, though gets no response. "Tell Sam to go home, whatever, but don't come here and start spewing shit that's not true, all right."

"Idjits." Grandpa grumbles an impatient sigh as he stands up and crosses his arms too; he and David are matching angry statues now. _Fantastic_. "Sure you don't wanna ask that friend o' yours how he feels again?"

Michael bites his lip. Does he? Does he, really? If a part of him says yes, wants to, wants to so bad but is terrified of the truth and his own feelings, he pushes it back and shakes his head.

"No, I don't," he growls.

Grandpa turns to David. "You stay, and those kids ain't gonna let up till you're dead. _Both_ of you. If what ya sayin' is true, then leave Michael here and maybe his brother will finish that job you started, eh?" His words are hard, his expression solemn.

Michael notices a tick in David's jaw, a tremble in his stance. It's a small yet unmissable thing, and for a moment Michael thinks David will listen, leave the boardwalk with a careless shrug in his direction, but he doesn't.

He stays.

Grandpa nods in approval, then turns to him. Michael falters at the striking clarity in the old man's gaze. "Anythin' you want to tell that brother of yours?"

Michael's breath escapes his body in a rush, even though he doesn't necessarily need to breathe. Sam. Sammy. Fuck. What could he say?

_Hey, Sammy, sorry, but I've gotta ditch ya. No hard feelings?_

_Sorry, bro, but I'm not coming home. So, guess you're on your own. Take care of Mum. Be good. Don't die._

"Tell him don't come looking for me, he's… he's not my brother," he says in a hard tone, squaring his jaw and narrowing his eyes. His grandfather doesn't look surprised, more understanding, the look in his eyes unnerving Michael more than the words out of his mouth. He glances at David, so he doesn't have to see it as he speaks again.

"I _have_ a brother. Don't need anyone else."

***

Sam, Edgar and Alan bump into Grandpa Emerson on his way home; missing their two targets by just a short slip of time.

"Grandpa?! What are you doing out here this late?" Sam asks.

Grandpa sighs, Michael's earlier words playing around in his head. He places a hand on Sam's shoulder, his expression of sadness and regret changing to one of tired irritation. "Lookin' for you, boy. What'd you think I was doin'?"

The Frog brothers stare at each other, suspicious.

"We need to find Michael," Sam insists. "You can help us! I can save him, Grandpa, I know I can!"

"This wasn't what we agreed on," Edgar hisses, but Alan elbows him with a shake of the head when he notices the old man's glare. Edgar sees and his mouth shuts, teeth clenched in agitation. Fucking Gramps drove the shit-suckers out of town?!

"Hey, uh, Sam, maybe you should go home," Edgar says, clearing his throat a little awkwardly.

Sam blanches. "What about—"

"It's getting late," Alan cuts in before Sam can finish.

" _Late_? Guys, it's the perfect time for—"

"Perfect time for bed." Grandpa nods at the Frogs, a silent thanks, as much as he doesn't want to thank the brats who cost him repairs on his house. They both nod back, grudging looks on their faces as they walk toward their comic store.

"Edgar? Alan? What about the plan? Where are you guys going?!" Sam shouts in alarm, about to chase after them but being yanked back by his grandfather.

"Where you should be," he grumbles, pulling Sam along home. He'd need a few hours to think of another damn good lie for his daughter and grandson.

Some mornin' tomorrow was gonna be.

***

When Michael leaves the boardwalk and Santa Carla behind with David, he wonders if Sam will ever truly forgive him, or if his mother will learn to forgive herself. He spends the next few months aching for the familiar; for his family, for Star, for a semblance of clarity in his and David's complex state of—whatever. David doesn't seem to mind the pity party, lets him stew in his grief, using it to his advantage. After a while, it numbs the feelings. Michael begins to accept his role, embrace it, even, and things just sort of… settle.

The long days and nights go by, the years pass, the world around them changes, but he and David remain young and free and everlasting. In the timeless cycle of the sun and the moon, Michael loses the presence of mind to care about the things he used to.

Between this life and David, what else really mattered?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE MADE IT! Whew, it's been a ride. I would like to thank everyone for their support throughout the journey of writing this story. It may be over for now, but I do plan on continuing with some other little tidbits of this universe in the future.


End file.
